Tu Me Manques
by Wishful Dwarfing
Summary: Dr. Archibald Hopper spends Tuesday afternoons helping a young kindergarten teacher coping with her own eventual death. The smell of tulips lingers heavily in his office. Archie/OC - Jiminy/OC
1. A Cup of Peppermint Tea

Tu Me Manques

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Summary: Dr. Archibald Hopper spends Tuesday afternoons helping a young kindergarten teacher coping with her own eventual death. The smell of tulips lingers heavily in his office. Archie (Jiminy)/OC

Disclaimer: Soon to be a hefty fic.

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Chapter 1: A Cup of Peppermint Tea

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The rain had come down in a light drizzle that seemed to pause on each half hour. It seemed almost too perfect and scheduled. Nothing had seemed this amusingly routine since Emma Swan had come to town. Henry Mills, a once model student and one of his patients had become more increasingly truant and the quiet doctor was having a harder time reaching out to him. If she was a good influence on the town, Dr. Hopper had yet to see anything good come of her appearance. He'd reserve judgment for now, of course. Miss Swan hadn't been in Storybrooke very long and Henry was probably still adjusting to the idea of having his birth-mother in his life. His adoptive mother didn't seem very cooperative and her very hostile hold on Henry's treatment was also grating on the therapist. It was an explanation for things, albeit not a very good one. Things would work themselves out, Archie quietly murmured to himself. Wouldn't they? Some form of normalcy would settle down and things would become as routine as this rainfall was. Perhaps that was the sign being shown to him on this grey, dreary winter day.

On and off, Archibald Hopper watched the droplets gently tap against the windows of his office. It was still bitterly cold, yet the drops didn't turn to ice. A wonder. Holding a bone colored mug in his hands, he stared into the green liquid. Peppermint tea seemed appropriate for such a day like this. It was soothing. The heat from the mug warmed his hands while he waited for his last appointment to arrive. Today was a rainy Tuesday. He had mused about routine earlier, but now he couldn't help but wonder if the rain was also going to match the mood of this final patient. Setting down the mug, Archie reached for the notebook in front of him. He had a bit of time before she got here to remind himself of who exactly he was dealing with.

She was stubborn and difficult. Difficult was a word he often wrote in his notes about her. There was notation of a lack of cooperation, an unwillingness to connect with others, and a physical illness that made reference to a file. At the corner of the first page, bent over, was Dr. Hopper's quick scrawling that read "coping with the end". The patient met with him once a week and it was vital that they made progression, but it seemed like they weren't getting anywhere. Either she was doing her best to sabotage their sessions or she was truly in need of guidance. Archibald wasn't going to consider giving up on her. It was far too early and even so, it would take a lot more to scare him off. It'd take more than a dragon from Henry's book to frighten him. He paged through his notes and took a slow sip of the peppermint tea. Just as he did so, it seemed to summon a downpour. As the rain fell, the door to his office opened. There stood a diminutive woman. She was four feet tall, maybe with some extra added inches. The file in Archibald's desk read four feet with four inches. Her chestnut brown hair was cut in a pixie-style. It was manageable, likely for a purpose.

It was the her that the therapist had been reading about. The her that he had been awaiting. The final appointment of the day. She was soaked through and trying her best not to track water into the office.

"Sorry." Her soft voice feigned friendliness and bit with irritability. "It's pissing buckets."

The five minutes that the small, young woman had taken to leave her car and travel to the office had been the downpour that Archie had watched only moments before. She had been caught in it. Yes, it had "pissed buckets" all over her and now it was going to be an interesting start to their session. He didn't have a towel, but there was a nice throw blanket over the couch.

"Miss Maia, You're early." He kept his voice soft and took hold of the throw. "Come in. Dry off."

"As I tell my class, it is better to be early because you are promised to be on time. To be on time means you could be late. You know me by now, Hopper. Quit the Miss Maia stuff, please. How many sessions have we had by now? It's Cherise." Grudgingly, she took the throw blanket and wrapped herself in it while trying to dry herself off. She made soft sighing noises of discontent as she did.

Her tone was already unpleasant. Dread was starting to fill Archie as the little woman tried to dry herself off. She was already so bitter, yet she was so young. Someone would argue that someone so young shouldn't be holed up in his office, but he would beg to differ. Once she was reasonably dry, she sat herself on the far end of the couch. Cherise couldn't have been further away from Archie if they were on different continents. Cherise Maia certainly knew how to make things difficult and it was a wonder he didn't write an entire speech on moments like this. He had done his best to make his office an inviting place, hadn't he? The greenery was comforting. He had books! There were even toys hidden away that Henry knew to find. What was he doing wrong? The two sat in absolute silence while the woman straightened her yellow dress, finding faults with every fold on her clothing. Her dark chocolate eyes kept to themselves and ignored the therapist and the room. Taking that cue, Archie flipped to a clean notebook page.

"How have you been feeling today?" His voice was softened and a bit cheery.

"I'm fine, thank you." It was the stock answer. Cherise was a ball buster. Archie quickly scribbled down his expectations of the session, then looked back over the young woman. Was she really fine? She looked a bit pale from rushing in from the rain. Opening his mouth, the woman stared at him.

"Ask me again, Hopper. Oh, I dare you. The answer is I'm fine."

That was the final answer, then. I'm fine. Hostile, but fine. Then she really wasn't fine. There was something to be pitied about the woman who sat before him. Uncooperative and trying to hide away from his eyes, perhaps even the eyes of the world. It would be only appropriate that she would be trying to get to an appointment that she needed to be at only to have it rain upon her. Now she was wet, cold, and sitting here answering questions she didn't exactly want to answer. No wonder she wanted to have things over with. Letting out a sigh, Archie tapped his pencil on the notebook. How are you feeling wasn't the best question to ask.

"How about…you ask me a question?"

Cherise folded her arms and balled herself up as much as possible. Her legs dangled from the sofa as she narrowed her gaze.

"What's your catch, doc?"

"I know you're not comfortable here so…I want to make you feel a little more comfortable. If it comes at a shock, Cherise, I actually care about how you're doing." The words were slow and gently coaxing.

"That's disturbing. Someone caring about a dying girl. I hope you mean on a professional level."

She'd do anything to dodge questions. Her dark gaze, filled with a strange sort of childish wonder met with Archie's. It weakened and became more docile. An unspoken promise of ceasefire occurred. Her words had been enraging enough, though. Archie felt his shoulders tense immediately and he had to shut his eyes.

"Do you honestly believe you are incapable of being cared about?"

There was a bitter, hurt noise from the woman as the rain slowed to a stop for the moment. The strange noise seemed to be a laugh. Allowing his eyes to open and letting himself watch the woman, he noticed she had started to stare at one of the paintings hanging on the wall. It was of flowers, blooming around a sword. He had always found it so empowering and once found himself mesmerized by it. It had struck a cord in this patient.

"I think…if people know what's good for them, they wouldn't get attached."

"What do you mean?"

In retrospect, a better choice of words could have been used. Yet she seemed calm or even resigned as she explained herself. "People do two things. They either pity me or they really want to know me. If you pity a sick person…then it's your own fault. I don't want pity. If you really want to know me…why do you want that burden when you know you're going to have to let go?"

Cherise Maia suffered from a terminal kidney disease. The medications had stunt her growth and, in her own words at their first session, "wrecked her insides". She had earned some sort of respect for suffering so long. Each day was painful, yet she pushed on and made no fuss. Cherise didn't feel as if the world owed her anything. She was on the constant attack when it came to discussing her feelings or how to improve things. In her eyes, she was getting by alright. Or at least, that was how she came across.

"And you hate pity, I'm aware. But what about the people who really want to get to know you?"

"I'm saving them a fat lot of trouble, doc."

Cherise removed the now-soaked throw from her shoulders now that she wouldn't ruin the leather sofa. Closing her eyes and giving a defiant shake of the head, the noted difficult patient snorted. Feeling a headache starting to form in the back of his head, Dr. Hopper reached for his cup of peppermint tea and let himself digest the information. So they had gotten off to a running start and had started to repeatedly hit a brick wall. It was a normal appointment with Miss Cherise Maia and helping her come to terms with a terminal illness. If there was anything good that came from this, her being soaked meant that he could smell her perfume from where he sat. It was the smell of tulips, which was more welcomed now during a winter rain. It brightened the office, which was so strange coming from such a bitter woman. For one so angry and bitter, she had an occupation that one would only attribute to a happy person. Even her clothes looked happy.

"You'd take no comfort in knowing people care about you? What about your job?" Maybe Archie was onto something. The right kinds of questions asked at certain times would be what worked. Looking at the slowly-dying Cherise, the therapist quietly offered her a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. He hadn't expected her to accept. Stunning the poor man into shock, she gave a polite nod and took a small glass. She took little sips. It was probably because she couldn't have a lot of liquids. He knew that and he wasn't about to drone on like a mother-figure. She was a woman and in control of her condition. In his opinion, she wasn't self destructive. She was tragic, yes. What kind of person thought of others wasting their time when it came to getting to know them? Two years was still time enough, even if it was a rough estimate. There was something just hidden behind the walls of ice that the woman named Cherise had put into place.

It was starting to intrigue Archie now. Not only as her psychiatrist, but now as a person. What was so important that this tiny slip of a woman had to be so bitter and angry? Was it her shortened life? Was it the cruel hand fate dealt her? What was it? He waited for her to answer.

"What comfort? It doesn't phase me. Nothing much does but that job of mine. Is it too sickening to wake up because you like your job? I like children. They're wonderful and sincere when they're at this age. It's when they're older they're liable to break your heart. It's so important to teach them well right now. That's my job. My joy. That's what keeps me looking forward to the time I do have left. So if someone cares, that's nice. They could put that energy into raising money for the animal shelter or putting together something nice for the town. All of that care for a girl who will only live two years? Me? Really. It's why I'll stop them now and say…no thanks." She set the glass down. It was still fairly full. Maybe she was pacing herself. Maybe she was making herself angry already. Maybe Archie should have picked his next words a bit more carefully, but he had already found they had slipped out.

"And if they decided to care about you and do good things at the same time?"

Cherise shot a dirty look at her therapist. "Because getting anyone in Storybrooke to do something completely selfless is that easy. Getting their parents to volunteer to help serve cookies for school functions is pulling teeth enough, doc. We don't even ask for them to bake them. How do you explain that to a six-year-old? It's tough. So I do what I can to keep them stuck in a world of wonder and whimsy. When you're six, you should be thinking about dreams and silly things like catching fireflies or fighting the invisible dragons in your head. You should be…making wishes. Sure, I teach them to be practical too. Wishes don't come true without work. But everything starts with a wish…a dream. They're in kindergarten, doc. Someone has to let the little dreamers sleep a little bit longer. It's too soon to let them see what we know. Let them be children just a little longer."

Cherise had abandoned her drink to take to her feet and start to pace around her office. A fire had been lit within her and it was foreign to Archie. He was content to sit in his chair and take mental notes. She really cared about these children and he had riled a tiny, sickly woman enough to set her on a verbal rampage through his office. He did it once before, only it was more in defense. He never got her to explain an action before. Now he couldn't get her to stop. In this strange game of mental chess, Cherise had to win. Archie still had to make a move that made it seem like he was playing for keeps, but he knew when to surrender the king. It wasn't just time to make that move yet. Looking over the frames of his glasses, he watched Cherise stomp her foot into the rug. She was wearing mary-janes and didn't even wear heels to hide her height difference. It was charming, but it really did add a sort of youthful look to her.

"Son of a bitch, I have to keep those kids thinking positive and doing good things. I have to keep them on track and prepared for the first track. A good foundation for life is the primary grades, Hopper. That keeps me alive right now. I have two years. I have two more classes to teach. Two more years of children. Two groups to make sure they're okay. Not just in education, but I need to make sure they're alright because there's something wrong with us folks in Storybrooke and you know it. I have to make sure we have a generation of good kids growing up! It's on me! Damned if I'll fail any of those little darlings! They need me. That's my borrowed time! I love those little ones!" In her rage, she had scrambled for something to throw. It had been a figurine Archie had received as a present. He wasn't sure when or for what, just that it had been one of the numerous presents from friends that he had in his office. Normally, it sat benignly on the coffee table. It was unassuming and looked like it came from some foreign country. The little figure had went flying at the floral print that had been admired not long before. Hitting the corner of the frame just so, the entire picture came down.

Cherise stood wide-eyed at the damage she had caused. Had she truly smashed a frame and shattered the glass? It looked like there was only one crack. The figure had survived unscathed. Kneeling down and cradling the tiny object, she sighed. "…I'm sorry. I…That was unforgivable!" Her tone immediately changed. The bitter tone was gone and she sounded more like a frightened child. Archie slowly rose from his chair to survey the damage. A new frame would be needed. A trip to Mr. Clark's would be required, that was all. It was a dollar store frame and he could afford the upgrade to a drug store frame, he reckoned.

The woman's hands shook. They were pale, bruised, and thin. Holding out the figure to Archie, she gently placed the object in his hands. His fingers gently brushed over her knuckles as he accepted the item back. They were so cold. Icy. Was she always so cold? His office was more on the warm side, but that felt more like death. It was unnerving and made him pause to stare at Cherise a few moments longer while she calmed herself down.

"It's only a frame. I can replace it." He finally whispered as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Do you feel better? Now that you don't have that all bottled up inside of your head?"

"I guess I do." She mused softly. Her voice reminded him of a playful puff of breeze when she was calm like this. When there was no malice, she was an entirely different person. Easing himself down onto the floor beside her, Archibald faced his decompressed patient. The smell of tulips was more pronounced with his closeness and it was a little intoxicating. The more he could smell, the closer he wanted to be. It was the want of warm weather, he told himself. Everyone was so tired of rain and snow, including himself. What he wouldn't give to be in a garden with tulips right this second. The carpet beneath the two of them was slightly reminiscent of a soft patch of grass, so it wasn't a far stretch. With the greenery, Archie could pretend they were in a garden instead of a stuffy office.

Cherise cleared her throat. "About the…comfort in people. It's just… I'm alone. Well. Sort of. I do things. I have…activities. You know. Keep me occupied between dialysis and work. And sleeping. I have acquaintances. Nothing lasting."

Archie had closed his eyes and lost himself in the scent, though he did quietly answer his patient. "You don't have anything lasting because you don't try or because nothing happens?"

"A little of both. I don't make an effort and nothing happens. I'd don't make an effort because I…" She stopped herself to stare at the discarded little figure by her therapist's feet, almost trying to place feelings into it. Maybe she was trying to siphon strength from it. It wasn't working out, either way. Gritting her teeth and throwing her head back, she let out a groan. "Truthfully? I'm going to break someone's heart when I die. I'd like to do as little damage as possible. I can't stop everyone from getting attached. One of my students is going to find out eventually. I can't stop that. But if I can stop others from getting attached…it'd be nice to have less than five people crying when I die. Like you. You're stuck with me until you think I can handle this. It's going to be two years. You can learn a lot about a person in two years."

You could get attached to a person in two years. Even in a professional relationship, you could find yourself missing someone. One day, Archie would be waiting for Cherise to walk in the door and she wouldn't be there. He'd be looking through his notebook about her and wondering if he did right by her. Was he doing right even now? Could he ever know? They would be questions he'd ask until the sessions were through. When the final puffs of the perfume faded from their final session, he would still ask those questions. He didn't like it. Archie felt the dark pangs weigh heavily upon him. There were other souls that depended on him. Here was one that was slowly fading away. His lips suddenly parted and blurted out the first thing on his mind.

"That's morbid, Ch-"

"I have to think about it. I have two years to live…at the most. Not at the least."

Archie opened his eyes to look at Cherise. She was staring back. Inquisitive brown eyes that never matched her threats or angry remarks were hurt and shuddered, almost on the verge of tears. Her entire body still shook from her outburst. "Dr. Hopper." She was pleading with him. Softly, she was whispering. "Reality's sake. I might not have the full two. I have to think about this stuff."

"Y-You're right. Yes. You do have to think about it. But you have a right to be selfish. To desire companionship. You can't do this alone. You can't face this alone. You can't deny yourself things because you want to be noble. We can cope, Cherise. You…have to live what life you have left." It was something that Dr. Hopper didn't want to think about. A patient's death. Even if Cherise's time with him was to prepare herself for her own death and coping, perhaps it would be filled with some self discovery as well.

What would he do if he had a little less than two years to live? Two Christmases. Two Thanksgivings. Two summers. Two spring-times to enjoy planting in his garden.

He'd spend it with Pongo and Marco, of course. He'd talk with Henry for as long as he can.

Then he'd watch the changing colors of the leaves. The snow.

Live life. To say it and actually do it were two entirely different things. That's why Cherise was here. Coping and doing. An amazing young woman who would never have the chance to do the things most people would. She had no family. She had few friends. She had her joy of her job. She had a few constants in her life; her impending demise, her height, dialysis three times a week and Tuesday afternoons with Archie Hopper.

Such was life.

"Your tea is getting cold." Cherise wouldn't answer Archie's previous lecture. He was right and she knew it. All she could do was regard him with a tiny nod. It was her way of saying I'll be better. If she could act upon it would remain to be seen. They sat still for a few silent, strained moments before the red-haired doctor spoke while straightening his shirt out.

"We still have forty-five minutes."

"Yeah. Guess I better think of more stuff to talk about." Cherise quipped in return.

It was going to be an interesting appointment. She was off the topic now and she didn't want to think of companionship or, dare think about it, friends. A relationship was too much for Cherise to fathom so Archie struck the suggestion from his mind. She didn't have enough time to establish something like that and she'd be completely against it. Small friendships. He'd have to suggest it next time she was more open. There was such a brief window of opportunity to reach out to Cherise.

That was why she was so difficult.

Archie wasn't sure if a challenge was a good thing anymore, but he was certain he was up to it. Of course, if she kept wearing that perfume around him, he was going to lose his mind again. He'd be right back in the garden in his mind and his troublesome patient would be right there next to him, where time couldn't touch her.


	2. Hymnal

Tu Me Manques

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Summary: Dr. Archibald Hopper spends Tuesday afternoons helping a young kindergarten teacher coping with her own eventual death. The smell of tulips lingers heavily in his office. Archie (Jiminy)/OC

Disclaimer: Don't own Ave Maria and I rather like the original trans. than just saying the Hail Mary, eh?

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Chapter 2: Hymnal

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Cherise didn't waste much time in sticking around Archibald Hopper's office. As comforting and green as the place was, as musty and contemplative as it seemed, she wanted to escape as quickly as possible. Rule number one she had laid out for herself was to never let herself be so exposed like she had been in that office. It was the whole point of her sessions, but she had been as ornery as possible for days now. Archie had slowly chipped away at whatever walls she had up. She had always thought of herself as a castle. Now here was Archie on some sort of mule, armed with only wisdom and his glasses. He had torn down the wall and had dismantled the ballista. It was only a matter of time until the fierce attack dragon was pacified. Soon the angry ruler on the other side could be reasoned with.

Archibald Hopper, the extraordinary therapist in Storybrooke, that nervous and doddering little man with his curly red hair and his infuriatingly charming voice had already won this war. Cherise would be damned if she'd let him know he'd gotten to her already.

The rain had ceased to fall when she returned to her car, so she took to running a few errands. It wasn't a dialysis day. That would be tomorrow. Tomorrow would be parking herself on a chair in the hospital after school and taking a nap while she listened to the bustle of the hospital. If she had the means, she could have done the procedure at home. Sadly, she didn't have such a charmed life. Woe was her. It didn't kill her to interact with people. It irritated her. In a sick way, that also gave her a little enjoyment at the same time. There were a few simple things she took enjoyment in and despite that it was a bother to be at the hospital for long hours, she also got to pester people right back. A little notion that made her happy. Just as she could torment a nurse that stared at her short stature too long or screech at an insensitive medic, she could also torment Mr. Clark at the Dark Star Pharmacy. It wasn't that he did anything wrong. He was just a simple target to set after.

"Clark!" It was just so easy to bellow his name. She realized early on in her days that it was important to yell in case the man was in the back, busy pricing candy bars, or stuck in a sneezing fit. "I've got medications to pick up, Clark. Clark, don't you ignore me. I might sound like a chipmunk on helium but I'm less pleasant. Clark, the hell are you ignoring me for? Clark, you better be dead! Clark!"

The jests had turned friendly and prodding. With her history, she spent a lot of time in here. This was one of the acquaintances she had mentioned. Nothing lasting, but someone who cared. Misguided soul, what a poor misguided soul she lamented. Clark meant well and had a decent and quiet job, but he was nosey. Nosey. That was a funny thing to think of the man. Nosy with eternal hay fever and overactive allergies.

"Clark, if you dropped dead…I want your stuff! Clark!"

"I can hear you just fine!" The pharmacist lived. Glory and hallelujah. Cherise snorted and kept herself from laughing as the pharmacist emerged from between an aisle of emergency supplies and a rack of Marvel comic books. He knocked over what looked like a few issues of Thor or maybe it was some other hero with blonde hair. The little impatient woman wasn't interested and she was going to continue shouting until she had Clark's attention or irritation. It all weighed on what came first.

"Clark. What are you doing Clark? They're coming to get you, Clark! I'm here for my prescriptions. It's Tuesday and it's the beginning of the month, Clark. Clark, are you slacking? Clark." Sliding over to a shelf, she stood on her toes and reached for the top shelf. Groping around, she pulled down a can of deicing spray and tossed it into the air. Below her shoes she could feel the tile beneath her creaking a bit with age. It would probably break off soon. The Dark Star was a bit aged. At least, it was starting to yellow somehow. It seemed like overnight she had finally noticed the age of the place. Even the candy was looking stale.

"Do you have to use my name like a car alarm? Could you stop?" The pharmacist's jest was playful and the only irritation in his voice was feigned. He was kind to Cherise. The teacher in return, showed her own affection towards Mr. Clark in a strange way. But he knew that provoking Cherise was never a good thing. She was a bitter woman with a twisted sense of humor. Her class was made up of children under the age of seven. Telling her not to do something she perceived as harmless meant she would do it.

"CLARK. CLARK. CLARK!" There was now added emphasis on the ending that made an irritating sort of kuh noise that managed to echo in the Dark Start pharmacy. This comical outburst caused Mr. Clark to stop and stare while Cherise replaced the can of deicer on the shelf. When she finished her chant, she drew in a sharp breath, stood on her toes, and then hopped over to the short (but still many leagues taller than her) pharmacist.

"So where are my drugs?" She asked softly.

"Am I your dealer now?" He sniffled and walked towards the candy display. "You nearly pop my eardrums-"

"Not hard to do when you have an eternal cold, Clark." Cherise hummed and rolled her eyes impishly, all while trying to hold back a growing grin.

"What's got you so happy? Oh you just got back from-"

Cherise's eyes sudden became oddly dark. She slammed her tiny fist down onto the counter. "My medications. Please. If you would."

"…Cherry Pie." Clark seemed to be threatened now. It was dangerous territory he had entered and only by chance. He stared at the angered woman and scratched his chin while trying to see how badly he had offended her. The famous saying was if looks could kill. If looks could kill he would be murdered by now. Cherise stared back at him with a now near-psychotic grin.

"Sweet talk me, I dare you." And so all the work that Archibald Hopper had managed to do within years of work with Cherise Maia had been undone by a pharmacist trying to be kind, or so it seemed.

"You're starting to feel better, aren't you?" It was noticeable. Or it had been.

"I sometimes have chest pain and I sometimes pee black blood." She growled back.

"No. About…" He could save face if he tried to apologize and just got the medications like he was supposed to. Clark knew Cherise couldn't be angry for too long, but this had been a mistake. He hadn't seen Cherise so cheerful and sarcastically sweet on a Tuesday afternoon before. Now he had wrecked the fun. The S.S. Funship was sinking and the only lifeboat had a hole in it. Cherise was a very angry squid he'd have to deal with.

Cherise's nostrils flared in frustration. "I made good with that ghost when I was a kid, Clark-kuh. My scripts."

The finality of the statement chased the thinly bearded pharmacist into a backroom. The scripts, yes. Cherise had a plethora of medications that he was trusted to fill and hand off to her. It was a matter of life or death and she'd be back soon for a refill. Sometimes there was a new medication she was told to try out or a switch up of something. Sometimes there were surprises when he was filling things and he had notes that even the dying girl wasn't aware about. Sometimes he wondered about Cherise. How many knew about her condition? Certainly her employer did. So did the therapist. He did too, as well as a few select other. While looking through the bags he held out his hand.

Six bags of medication. That was about how many people who knew for certain, too. Six people knew about Cherise's condition and what it truly meant for her. In a place like Storybrooke, one's secrets became everyone's business so he wasn't sure how she had kept the secret for so long. She was odd as it was. Pixie, Cherry Pie, or Firecracker were all names that suited her well. He recalled a time Leroy called her Midget-lips and got himself kicked off a chair. He'd started to call her variations of Midget now just to get a reaction. Some days she'd smile. Some days she'd give him the reaction he was looking for. Other days he was too drunk to notice.

Now that Clark thought on it, maybe Leroy and Cherise should date. Two bitter people would be perfect for each other. Of course that was if Cherise could keep herself from strangling Leroy when he sang out his new favorite nickname for her; Midget-tits. No one told her yet. It was going to be a surprise. It was probably going to be a painful surprise, but a surprise none the less.

"I've got six for you."

Six! Cherise chewed on her lower lip and slipped her hands into her pockets. She was really getting bad then. What could she do? Not pay and not take her medication? She'd be in the hospital in no time. The idea of being separated from her only love in love broke her heart. Money was difficult, though. Being so ill and with so many procedures and therapies she had to endure, she was cutting back on many things. Now rent was becoming a bit too difficult to pay. It was almost like a Dickens novel, she snorted. A tiny young woman with failing kidneys and severe illness who couldn't pay the rent but adored children falls on harder times. These would be her misadventures until she died or married a rich man and then died at the end anyway, but would still be glorified for some mundane reason if only for telling some curmudgeonly sod off for frightening the children she adored.

That wouldn't have been a bad fate for her, maybe. Her eyebrows quirked in consideration as she thought about it and counted out the bills to pay for the medication.

The rain had begun once more when a tiny being bobbed along. All that was visible was a yellow hat. Smaller than Cherise, it went by undetected until it slipped inside the pharmacy and caused the two to look up. Mr. Clark began to bag the medications into a larger paper bag. The little yellow hat trotted bounded over and stood next to Cherise.

"Hey. Uh. Cherise. Is that one of your strays?"

"Clark, are you trying to make me angry? You never call a child a stray!"

Beneath the yellow hat was a red-haired child with large grey eyes. She smiled and lifted the hat slightly. Soaking wet and still in her school uniform, she grinned. She was no more than five or six, but she was very small for her age. Springy, though. The child bounced with playful and devilish energy that almost matched the wicked grins Cherise had flashed. Had the child picked up on bad habits from her teacher? Or was the teacher mimicking a behavior she learned from a student? Either way, the soggy little girl reached out to her teacher.

"Miss Maia!" She cooed softly.

"My my, Maggie. You're unsupervised. Not surprising… And soaked! What are you doing out in the rain?" Cherise crouched down slightly to wrap her arms around the little girl and brush moisture from her face. "Oh my goodness you're wet."

Clark thanked his lucky stars a transformation had occurred. Rather than face Cherise's wrath, she was distracted by a student. Sighing with relief, he set the bag aside and watched the exchange.

"Maggie…you go to the church after school for the after-hours program because Sister Clara is there. Why aren't you there?" Cherise placed her hands gently on what now appeared to be her charge for the moment.

The redheaded little devil girl smirked. "Oh I missed my ride, Miss Maia."

"On purpose." She knew her student well. Well enough to know that Maggie wasn't all sweetness as she would have some think. The girl was a "little monster" that Cherise adored. A class leader, of course. On the downside, she was a bit of a trip. She could get bossy and she had a perchance to bring mice and beetles into class to hide in the desks of other girls when they were rude and nasty bullies to others. Just desserts, perhaps, but using words was better than revenge.

"I was busy bothering Raul." She shrugged and spoke matter-of-factually.

"The ambassador's son, yes." Cherise chuckled. A first grade boy, a Spanish child, that had a slight crush on the kindergarten girl had made the mistake of being a gentleman. He now knew the wrath of wily Magdalene Meghan Chapeau, an archaeologist's daughter who always seemed to be in the care of a nun. The teacher didn't enjoy heading into the church, but if it was for one of her students and returning her to her caretaker, then she would do it. She reached for her bag and shrugged at Mr. Clark.

"We will see each other on Thursday when the game is afoot. At Walter's, correct?"

Clark gave a slow nod. "Right. I'm Watson. I'm trading with the doc."

"Your doc. I've got multiple docs." Cherise sighed.

"Well you know him, too! Except you're probably not going to-"

"Not in front of Maggie. Maggie and I are departing for an adventure. We fare thee well." Cherise rolled her eyes and started for the door. Adjusting the child's hat, she walked her across the stress and to her car. It was still parked in the same place, as expected. Luckily there were no speeding cars to smash into it or freak accidents. But with this new stranger in Storybrooke, Cherise couldn't help but expect something new. She eyed her car quickly. An AMC Pacer was not ideal to transport a five year old to church, but there was little choice. She walked Maggie to the back seat and slipped her inside while buckling her in.

Maggie simply smiled the entire time. An adventure with her kindergarten teacher? This was going to be too fun. She set her hat beside her and kicked her legs happily. She took a bit of notice that Cherise had to sit on what looked like a booster seat and had something extra so she could reach the pedals. Even in such a tiny car, there were adjustments to be made due to her height. Things just had to happen.

"You know," Cherise started while adjusting her mirrors and looking over her shoulder at her student. "If you're up to something Maggie…you should really behave. You're five."

"I'm six." Magdalene argued with a shocked look on her face. "You say I'm five going on fifty-five so we'll say I'm six."

Oh how she could argue! Starting the car, Cherise chuckled. "You're six the first week of June. I have it on my calendar so I can get you a nice present, dear heart. Now please. We're going to church." She didn't seemed pleased to mention church. Her voice had dropped. Her eyes had weakened. It was a place of bad memories for her. No one knew about it besides the Sisters. Of course, they were the ones who remembered.

"You don't like it? They have good snacks."

"I know they have good snacks, funny dreamer."

"And we sing."

"…Yes. The singing. It's…wonderful, the singing." That made her a little wistful. She did miss the singing.

"Miss Maia? Sister Clara said you wanted to be a nun once."

"…It's very true, Maggie." Cherise sighed. So perhaps Sister Clara put her up to this. What a woman. Why break the little girl's heart?  
Maggie tilted her head to try to get a better look at Cherise while they drove along the main street. She was keeping her eyes on the road, but she seemed to be lost in her thoughts too. The little one could have sworn she saw tears at the corners of her eyes, but she wasn't sure if it was raindrops.

"Did they make fun of you like some of the girls make fun of me? Did you get even?"

"No! No, oh Maggie. No. Nothing like that. They were wonderful and tried to make me feel very welcomed." Cherise chuckled and shook her head. This was why she loved children. Such an innocent outlook on the world. How sweet it was to hear their thought process. It was a subject she never wanted to think about again. She never wanted to see the clothing she wore again, though she could still see her mirror image in her mind. A novice's habit. She had been so filled with pride. Her life simply shattered when she felt her condition worsen. She prayed and she prayed. No clarity came. She didn't even want an answer. All she wanted was some sort of inner piece. She found that within teaching.

Cherise thought she knew what she wanted. Yet she hadn't. Her heart was with teaching. Yet there were so many memories of crying and begging, asking for some sort of sign or calm feeling to get her through and finding nothing within. Then there was the beautiful music she heard in church. That beautiful music didn't lead her like she thought it would. That dedication the other sisters had wasn't there. Her dedication was to children and teaching them.

"I had a wonderful time amongst the sisters, but you see…I am better off in a garden of children like you. Kinder means children and…garten is garden."

"Oh! I get it!" Maggie grinned.

"I knew you would, my funny little dreamer." She chuckled. If Maggie didn't understand, she'd never let on. Cherise didn't recall childhood but she remembered her mother as being a warm, if not overbearing person. She hoped she was just like Maggie had been. As they drove away, Maggie chattered away in the back seat. Rolling her eyes in an animated and near-loving way, Cherise was starting to regret telling Magdalene she was five going on fifty-five. But how true it was for her funny little dreamer.

Archie had been watching the little red roller-skate of a car drive away, all while wondering what to do with the lingering aroma in his office. She had only been there an hour and it was still there, reminding him of the progress that was made and that strange, hurt look Cherise had given him when he had mentioned how morbid the topic had become when he had to think of losing his Tuesday afternoons with Cherise. What would happen when Henry stopped coming to see him?

The comforting smell of tulips lured him away from the thoughts. What was it about her perfume? Was he going crazy? Yet it seemed so right to belong there in an office so filled with greenery. Did that mean Cherise belonged there? In her current state, he'd say so. She needed help. She didn't seem like the sort to self destruct on purpose, but Archie couldn't help but wonder where she was off to now. His thoughts were shattered by a knock at the door. It echoed through the office and reminded him that things were still a little of a mess and less than presentable. If someone needed him, he didn't exactly look the part of a professional. He'd have to let his actions do the talking. The door slowly opened to reveal another patient; Henry Mills.

A sweet boy, one Archie felt confident in his treatment of. Why was he here? Henry smiled up at the therapist. His Tron lunchbox was gripped tightly in his hand and an umbrella was at his side. He must have walked from the school. He was the mayor's son. Being the mayor's son, he was "precious cargo". After his little trip to Boston to find his birth mother, things had been oddly different in Storybrooke. Henry wouldn't have been out walking by himself without good reason. Or maybe the mayor was simply too busy today. It wasn't anyone's fault that she had so many meetings that she couldn't sneak away from. Henry had less attention now that she was mayor. That was a root of a lot of trouble, but not quite all of it.

"Dr. Hopper! I need your help! I have a report to do and my…mom can't drive me. See. We have a religion class at school and we have to pick a saint to do a report on." Henry started with his problem. Archie frowned. So it was another meeting day. Maybe it was a city council affair or something. He hadn't kept up with politics in quite some time. It was more complicated than his job was and all it did to most people was make their head spin. He nodded for Henry to continue, which only caused the boy to smile.

"I picked Saint George and I remembered there's stained glass at the church and I think it's Saint George. Do you think you could take me? Emma's new in town and doesn't know her way around and I trust you."

It felt nice to hear those words, especially from Henry. He cared about the boy. If that didn't win him over, then nothing would have.

"Of course Henry. I don't have any appointments left for the day. Let me just lock up and we'll head over."

Archie turned to grab his things and take in one last smell of the tulip perfume in his office. While he was distracted, Henry went to wait in the hallway. He was hoping Magdalene had done her part. Emma was in Storybrooke now. The clock had finally moved and something was happening. If Henry had to move things gently along, he would. What better way to prove to Archibald Hopper he was Jiminy Cricket and a fantastic living Conscience than pitting him against what some knew as his worst patient? If his birth mother's presence was weakening the curse, if his observation of the clock was correct, if his noticing that time had started, then maybe this would work.

In his mind, he called it Operation Green Wing. It would be a gentle exposure to Archie's true skills. Though he had to admit, he didn't quite have the kindergarten teacher's identity figured out yet. Her being so small should have been a hint, but there were a lot of short people in Storybrooke. Sometimes it just wasn't that easy. She wasn't as easy to guess as Miss Blanchard, his true grandmother had been. Spotting Dr. Hopper's umbrella, Henry could barely hold back a triumphant grin as the two hurried down the stairs.

The drive wasn't long, but it was filled with silence. Henry tried to crane his neck around, feigning to look for the window from the outside. "I can't find it. Maybe we should go inside? I know they have the after school program. If we're quiet, I know Sister Clara won't mind."

Archie didn't know the after school program was held in the basement. Of course, Henry was using that to his advantage. Henry didn't feel the least bit terrible about doing this, either. It was for his own good, wasn't it? It would help him to remember. Maybe once a voice of reason remembered, it would help the curse break. Good always won over evil. That's what fairy tales taught. Once they had left the car, Henry pushed his way through the doors of the church. It wasn't hard to spot Maggie over in a corner, holding her yellow hat in her hands. Miss Maia, the kindergarten teacher, was a little harder to see. His plan was going to fail!

"Oh, I found the window, Archie! I just want to write something down! I'll be right back!"

Archibald Hopper was suddenly alone. Henry had darted off to the darkened corner to meet with his tiny kindergarten correspondent. He didn't at all feel comfortable stuck in a church he didn't always frequent, but there was a calmness there. He didn't see any of the children Henry said would be there, so he walked down the aisle.

"She left me near the basement and told me to be good. You better be up to something good and not hurting Miss Maia's feelings, big kid." Maggie harrumphed and crossed her arms. "She's by the organ. I think she'll sing. It's why I came back up. She's gonna sing. Miss Maia's got a pretty voice."

Henry looked over into what little light there was in the church. The sun had popped out for a few final moments to bathe Storybrooke in a few fleeting rays before nightfall settled over and embraced the town. There stood Cherise, gazing at a humble church organ. Her right hand rested on the keys, but she never placed any pressure upon them. There was an almost delightfully musty smell as she inhaled. The church felt so old and it was shelter. It wasn't comfort, but it was shelter. The instrument she touched so lovingly, though, that was comfort. That was joy. That was love.

In a place she looked for answers, music was where she found a little solace. If one believed that they obtained messages or signs in some celestial way, it was through song. So sing she would. Sing she would simply to give back for the years of life. It was appropriate to sing her favorite, even if she questioned her beliefs now.

_"Ave Maria! Maiden mild!_  
_Listen to a maiden's prayer!_  
_Thou canst hear though from the wild,_  
_Thou canst save amid despair."_

Ah, there wasn't anything to save her. Bitter irony was flowing within the beautiful words she knew by heart. She sang on, filling the church with a strange and sweet noise that was so soulful and heartfelt. Her young audience watched on. Maggie clasped her hands over her mouth in shock and wonder. Henry quickly threw down his backpack and pulled out his book. Without letting Magdalene see, he flipped through the pages. A tiny woman who sang and had a "garden" connection? Henry stopped on a large picture of a tiny, girlish figure staring back at him from a tulip. Miss Cherise Maia was in his book.

With the two children's reactions to her song, Archie found himself drawn to Cherise's voice. He slowly moved closer and closer. The song was heartbreaking. He wanted to just reach out and let her know he was there.

Until he realized he was right next to her.

Her large, brown eyes were upon him and the song had ended, breaking the spell.

Henry grinned. Operation Green Wing was about to truly begin.


	3. Green Wing

Tu Me Manques

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Summary: Dr. Archibald Hopper spends Tuesday afternoons helping a young kindergarten teacher coping with her own eventual death. The smell of tulips lingers heavily in his office. Archie (Jiminy)/OC

Disclaimer: This chapter took too long due to migraines. Butts.

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Chapter 3: Green Wing

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Archie couldn't decide between two ideas that were floating around in his mind now. This was either an elaborate trap set up by Henry to lead him to Cherise, or it was some strange twist of fate that now set him here staring into her eyes after witnessing an impromptu performance of Ave Maria that had been so touching, he almost wanted to request another song. It was really a little of both. Henry didn't seem to grasp the sort of situation that he had a hand in creating nor did he understand how badly this could turn out. All he could think about how wonderful Jiminy Cricket was and how he was a fantastic conscience. Yet now he discovered that he may have needed to peel apart the pages of his book. It was thick, certainly, but how had his missed a story about Miss Maia? He thought he had read about everyone except Mr. Gold…

"Archibald Hopper. It's a Tuesday afternoon. At…church. Didn't think you were a man of spiritual…ness. More of a man of science, I guessed. I'm wrong?" Cherise was back in action with her normal biting and stinging words. What had happened? She had left his office in a calm and contemplative state. Had happening upon her enraged her so much? Archie was about to speak when she stood on her toes and placed a gentle finger against his lips. The chill from her touch sent a shock down his spine and straight to his heels.

"Don't talk." The voice was cooing and sweet now. It was disarming for Archie because he knew all too well that Cherise could quickly change from biting to sweet and then to enraged that she'd start screeching or perhaps accusing him of stalking her. He was already shaking from the chill. Now she was truly scaring him. "One of my wayward students brought me here. Talk is cheap and I don't think you're here by happenstance either. Blink once for yes, twice for no. Do you think we're being watched?"

That made perfect sense. Blinking once and feeling relief start to warm in his fingertips and overtake his stiffened body, he sunk back onto his heels. So there was trickery afoot and maybe Henry had played a hand in this. He wasn't about to blame one of Cherise's students, but who knew what an eager and imaginative boy like Henry could have talked a more gullible and willing child into?

"Right." She continued calmly. "Well then. Who brought you here?" Cherise removed her finger and let her arms fold in front of her defensively. "Because they better have a good explanation for it. Honestly. Do I know them?"

"You probably do." Archie rasped and cleared his throat. "And the boy means well, so please don't be mad at him."

Of course Henry meant well. Henry always meant well. He was probably just lost in a fantasy he was playing out and it was completely harmless. Of course, then again, it could set Archie back days with Cherise. He had finally gotten her to open up to him. Finally, she was starting to show some acceptance and allowing him into her little world. He still couldn't be completely angry with Henry. There was a reason. There was always a reason for something. It was likely that his excuse of a report on a saint was only partially true and he was trying to lure his therapist into doing something. Making a note, Dr. Hopper tried to warn himself about this and the boy might do this again in the future.

At the least, Cherise didn't seem too angry. Finding out that children had brought the two into the church seemed to quell any rage she might have. Yet it would be difficult to tell, because Cherise was hard to read sometimes. Perfect with hiding a roiling rage, Cherise could mask anger or pain until the last possible moments. Instead, she walked a circle around Archie and chuckled. The sound was good natured and kind. It was soft.

"I couldn't be too mad, but I'm confused. Why children would bring the two of us into the church? What does that even accomplish?" Cherise quirked her brows while still in a state of assumed pleasantness. "What do we do? Play along? Yes. Suppose we do."

Play along? He was almost about to open his mouth to protest when Cherise propped herself up on her toes and placed another chilly finger against his lips. Another chill was sent through the tall and bookish man's spine. Why on earth did she have to continue to do that? He inhaled sharply and stared at Cherise as the finger slipped away. Her hands soon pulled for his right hand. She twisted her fingers to lace them with his. "Since you're here, let's give the children a bit of a show, shall we? Might as well. You saw half of one."

She was talking about Ave Maria, of course. The children had hid in the shadows of the pews and pillars while Archie had been given a very personal performance. He never would have guessed that Cherise could sing, but he had heard something said the most artistic of souls were the ones that hurt the most. His patient did have quite a lot of pain to go around. He wanted to hear more. If he could, Archie was very ready to be lost in Cherise's perfume and her voice in any moment. It was disturbing. She was his patient, yet she was starting to have some sort of hold over him. While in the office, the scent of tulip perfume had disarmed him. Now here Cherise was and the very memory of her singing was giving the man wings. It wasn't healthy. Still, he followed after Cherise quietly. She moved down the aisles and to a small, out of the way corner of the church. There was a donation box and a small statue of the Blessed Mother. The statue had been carved in such a way that it seemed so loving and comforting. It was merciful… Archie had seen pictures in books of church artwork, but this particular piece had a different sort of life. It looked like a mother. The face looked maternal and watchful.

"Why'd you bring me here, Cherise?" Archie whispered as his eyes remained on the statue.

"No reason. I just wanted the walk and the children who plotted against us will think we are up to something. I used to come here to pray. I just know the fastest ways to walk around here. So…how about that show?" She rocked back and forth on her heels, expecting an answer from Archie. She prayed once here, yes. Once when she had dreams.

Looking over his glasses at a blurry figure of Cherise he nearly sputtered. The woman had often claimed to be a nonbeliever. Now she claimed she prayed once? This would be something to bring up at a session. He fixed his glasses on his nose while trying to simply understand what to speak of. There were so many things he wanted to ask. Where did she learn to sing? What did she mean that she once prayed? How did she know her way around the church? Which child had set her up?

Why did everything suddenly feel so surreal?

Under the watchful eyes of the Blessed Mother, Archie Hopper reached out to light a candle while the two stood. Silence fell between them. Normally, a prayer was said at that time. He hadn't prayed. He wished often on stars. Was it any different? To him, maybe there wasn't much of a difference.

Since he had met Cherise, he hadn't felt so much sorry for her as he felt that she didn't deserve her fate. A shortened life filled with pain and misfortune wasn't worthwhile. She was young and she was alone. She had few friends and she had problems. So now and then, Archie would make a little wish for her. No matter how hard Cherise would protest in their sessions how there were no miracles left for her or how she no longer had any dreams, he would still give her a wish. Maybe there weren't any wishes for her. That didn't mean that Archie couldn't try and put her name on a wish on her behalf.

'Please. I know she's a little rough around the edges, but give Cherise Maia a miracle. She's sick. She's very sick and no one deserves what she's going through.'

Archie reached into his pocket and stuffed a bill into the donation box, then looked over at Cherise. She shrugged at him while trying to hide a bit of shock at the sudden display of spirituality, then began to walk away slowly. This rainy Tuesday afternoon was just filled with surprises and the both of them were going to continue to be in a state of shock for the day at this rate, or so Cherise reasoned within herself. She shuffled along, gesturing to some of the artwork for Archie while trying to waste time for their small masterminds to appear and admit to what they had done.

"Everything in here was donated from Italy except the Stations of the Cross. Those were painted by the Mother Superior. I think I'm going to bore you with things so maybe you should start asking me questions, Hopper. What do you want to know?" Cherise asked lazily as they came to a short rest at one of the pews. She gestured for the taller psychiatrist to sit down and took a seat for herself. She rubbed at her lower back as she did, but soon recovered as the two sat. Without missing a beat, he decided to confront the elephant in the room.

"Your singing. Ave Maria."

"…Shit Hopper. Really?" Cherise wrinkled her nose and puffed out her cheeks like an irritated rabbit. What was more, she had sworn in church. "What about it?"

"N-Nothing! It was…"

"You want to tell me I was off key or something?" The old Cherise had resurfaced! Archie was well acquainted with this one and it was only a matter of moments until something dreadful happened. They were in a fairly empty church and she was going to do something very bad. If his past sessions told him anything, he had about one minute to explain himself.

"I have never heard anything so moving or beautiful as your rendition of Ave Maria, Cherise. You don't sing at concerts. You don't…show your skills. But that was beautiful. You could get out of town with a voice like that."

Cherise had been ready for another verbal missile. She had her finger ready to wag. She was armed and dangerous, but Archie's words had been truthful and kind. He smiled weakly and looked within Cherise's eyes. The woman began to lose herself in the concerned and sweet look the green eyes had flashed upon her. Letting out a tiny coo and a sigh, a hand flew up to ruffle her hair.

"I sing for enjoyment, Dr. Hopper. Did you enjoy my singing?"

"I…I did." He admitted kindly.

"Then…I will sing for you again one day. Until there is no longer enjoyment. That's how it goes. Okay? Okay." Absentmindedly she reached out and patted his hands, then nervously chuckled. When the patting motion stopped, her hand came to rest on his. Unsure of what to do now, the teacher remained that way, letting Archie control the conversation now.

The two seemed completely relaxed and at ease. This only caused Henry the most delight he could possibly have. Operation Green Wing had almost failed when Cherise had discovered Archie so quickly. The plan had changed a little. Rediscovering a story in his book, Henry was only more excited about having Jiminy Cricket assume his role as a conscience and reconnect with those in Storybrooke that he knew before the curse. The kindergarten teacher was a wonderful tool to help Archie, too. The more Henry read on, the more the connection and a great tool she seemed to be. He turned another page to another illustration of what seemed to be Miss Maia stuck under glass and trying to tap her way out. It was all so curious and interesting, how her story was weaving together.

A little woman no larger than a thumb. She was once so happy and went on many adventures. Miss Maia had to be Thumbelina. No wonder she was so tiny! Henry chuckled to himself and gave himself a scolding for not seeing it earlier. At his laughing, Maggie tilted her head and made an irritated honking noise. "If you're not going to share your book with me, then maybe we should just come out and apologize to them since you got me to walk through the rain for no reason. Miss Maia's going to be awful cross with me and it's all your fault. I bet you don't even have any candy to give me. I bet you lied, Henry."

Did kindergarteners only care about candy and short-sighted things? Rather than rolling his eyes, he scooted the book over to Maggie to see. The red-haired girl held her yellow hat at her side as she inspected the book. She turned the pages quickly to look at the pictures, then quickly lost interest. She positioned her soggy hat upon her head and pouted. "I'm going to apologize. I don't want Miss Maia mad at me. You're not in her class but I am!" She shoved her thumb at her chest and began to stalk off towards where Archie and Cherise sat, causing Henry a bit of a panic. He couldn't just abort Operation Green Wing for a kindergartener! Everything looked like it was going so well! Maybe Archie was helping her so much she'd never need another appointment. It was just so calm and now Maggie was going to ruin it! What could he tell her to get her to stop? Henry flung out his arm, creating a small and futile barrier for the little yellow hat while he thought.

"L-listen, Maggie… Miss Maia and Dr. Hopper are on a date." Henry stuttered.

"In church?" Maggie stared at Henry, looking very unimpressed. "No one goes on a date to church."

"Yes they do! See, they were just looking at the stained glass and now they're sitting quietly. So we need to let them sit quietly and collect their thoughts…"

"No way, Henry Mills. Miss Maia's gonna be mad. You seen her mad? She gets so mad and then I feel bad because I wasn't on my best behavior or honest with her. It's best to be honest, a friend once told her, because being honest means you're at your best. That's what she says. She has a lot of stuff she says. You should have paid better attention in her class when you were littler." Maggie scrunched up her nose and hugged herself. She couldn't remember Henry being younger. She hadn't changed much. Of course, time had stayed in once place for twenty-eight years. She had been in kindergarten for a long time. Henry knew that. He remembered the class once, but for him it was a long time ago. It was before he had made the connection of fairy tales to the town of Storybrooke. The lessons Cherise had taught were forgotten.

Those lessons also didn't apply when more important things were involved! What was a bit of lying when a good "friend", a therapist, needed to be reminded to who he really was? Maggie still wasn't going to have any of it. The little fiery red head had pushed through Henry and rushed to her teacher's side.

"Miss Maia, Miss Maia…" Maggie whispered, trying to get the little woman's attention. Cherise was half dozing while staring up at the stained glass. She patted her knee and lifted the child onto her lap. She was gentle and held her in a hug while gesturing up to the windows.

"Maggie Chapeau… Those are the saints and the apostles. And they are those who the Lord's light shines through. It's why their images are made into stained glass."

Dr. Hopper couldn't help but smile at that explanation. He watched the two for a moment. Cherise rested her chin on Maggie's head. Whatever urgency and nervousness the little girl had, it was gone. She was now being gently rocked in Cherise's arms. No wonder she was a teacher. It crossed his mind that she'd make a good mother, but that joy would be robbed of her. It wasn't fair. Nothing in life was fair, but he noted it wasn't fair for most of his patients and that went double for this spitfire of a woman. She cooed and chattered with the little yellow-hat girl in her arms for a few moments more before finally turning her attention back over to Archie with a wry grin. "Show's over, hm?"

"Oh?" Archie shivered with a bit of shock. Show? Ah, the show she had spoken of. The front they were supposed to be putting up for the little eyes that were most certainly watching them.

"This is Maggie. She had me drive her here. I suppose you'd like to explain, Miss Chapeau?"

"Henry Mills is a stupid face." Maggie stuck her nose in the air, removed her hat, and threw it in the pew before the three of them. "A stupid face and a liar and he told me to walk in the rain and find you and this was stupid and you're mad!"

Cherise sighed and closed her eyes. The woes of a five year old girl having a small fit were not a joy to deal with, but it was a nice treat to have the truth. So it was the mayor's son putting little Maggie up to this. Whatever he had lied about, it didn't matter. Cherise didn't care about the truth. She simply eyed Archie, smiled the biggest smile she could, and in the most soothing voice she could muster, she asked, "Do you feel better?"

Archie nearly choked on the air around him.

"Yes Miss Maia." Maggie admitted in a monotone voice that droned. She rubbed at her eyes and nose before wriggling off her teacher's lap. "You're not mad?" Cherise shook her head. "No. I got to sing. I love singing. You go run along back to the after school program…like I had asked you to. Let Dr. Hopper deal with Mr. Mills, alright?"

As quickly as she came, she was gone again. The yellow hat remained on the pew in front of the two. Cherise folded her hands in her lap and smiled to herself. "We have your…patient to blame. It's not a group effort then."

Archie's face began to turn a few various shades of pink. For some reason, he felt a little embarrassed. Had he not been working hard enough with Henry? Maybe there was more he could have discussed with him. He was having some kind of idea about the two of them. This wasn't something innocent if he was putting up five-year-old girls into tricking their teachers into being at the right place at the right time.

"I'll talk to him, Cherise. I will. I promise."

"Hey. He means well. He probably thought you could use more company or something… Can't say I didn't…enjoy walking around church for a few more minutes." She chuckled and rolled her shoulders as she stood up from the pew. Standing on her toes, she bent over to pick up Maggie's discarded hat. "Just next time don't stand behind me while I'm singing. Make a request or something."

He wasn't about to get used to her being so personable. Not so soon, at least. Archie soon stood to follow her out of the pew and stood in the middle of the aisle with her. She kept straightening a wrinkle in her dress obsessively with her left hand while the right kept the hat in a death grip. Finding her actions to be useless, she stopped and looked up at Archie.

"Guess that means you have a wayward little boy to track down and give a lecture to."

He did. He already had an outline in his head of what he had to tell Henry and things he'd have to tell Regina. He was getting far too angry about how the boy seemingly was allowed to run around town unsupervised and who knew what sort of trouble he could cause. At least at Archie's office, it was safe and there was the promise of dinner or just a place to hang out and talk. Anywhere else, who knew what could happen to Henry? If he was trying to match make or just torment others, then it was dangerous behavior that his mother needed to know about!

Archie nodded to Cherise and smiled softly. "Yeah… I…I do."

"Well. Maybe you should get out of your office more often." She shook her head. "Maybe it's not a cry for help, maybe he's trying to help you. Children are very observant, Dr. Hopper. You'd be surprised all of the things they do for us to make us happy. Maybe Henry wants to see you content just like Maggie wouldn't want me upset. It's why I've mastered hiding things from my students. They can't know I'm sick or I'm unhappy. I'd ruin their little worlds and their happiness."

He never had a chance to answer her. He couldn't agree or disagree. Cherise had already walked off in the direction of the church's basement to ensure the little girl got her hat and was staying put where she needed to be. The entire event was rather surreal and Archie wasn't sure what to make of it, really. He stood there fixing the glasses on his face and feeling his heart leaping out of his chest while Ave Maria still echoed in his ears. What happened today? It had started so ordinary.

"Hi Dr. Hopper! I took down the sketch of St. George they have as stained glass! I think my report's going to be fine now!" Henry emerged from the shadows, having stashed the book in his backpack. He'd have to read later. Operation Green Wing wasn't a complete success, but he couldn't count it a total failure. He had learned something, at least. Miss Maia was Thumbelina and Jiminy Cricket could help her. But why was she so sick? Did something happen to her? It was going to take more work to understand why things were the way they were in Storybrooke. Henry had ten years of living in this quiet little town, but only a few were productive. Now that time was moving, he could study more people. Time was a welcomed friend for him. Yet he was starting to wonder if for Thumbelina, time was a bad thing.

He looked up expectantly at Archie, only to be granted a stern look.

"Henry…I don't believe for a second we're just here for your report. And I want you to tell me the truth." Archie's voice quivered nervously.

Henry paled and he balled his hands into little fists. It was time to abort the mission.

"Well…I heard that Miss Maia was sick and needed extra help." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth. He wondered if Archie could see through him. After years of Regina having him visit the cricket conscience, he knew Henry so well by now. "You can help her. You're the best there is! She needs you!"

"And she is a fragile patient. I have an appointment with her every Tuesday afternoon and that's how things are, Henry. Please. She's a very sick woman…"

Henry could hear the hurt in Archie's tone. He gulped and nodded. "She's like…a flower. A very delicate flower."

A tulip grown from a barley corn.

"That needs proper care." Archie finished. The two exited the church.


	4. Romanza

Tu Me Manques

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Summary: Dr. Archibald Hopper spends Tuesday afternoons helping a young kindergarten teacher coping with her own eventual death. The smell of tulips lingers heavily in his office. Archie (Jiminy)/OC

Disclaimer: With a new keyboard I no longer have to pound on to make certain buttons work and after a six month absence, I am back. Thank you for that message last night. You know who you are.

The credits to Romanza are to M. Malavasi and Andrea Bocelli. I suggest you bring it up on youtube if you'd like to have some mood music.

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Chapter 4: Romanza

Tonight, dinner was to be had at Marco's house. It was going to do Archie some good to get his mind off of today's events. He was a little confused with himself. Once again, Henry Mills was getting into mischief. This time, he was now meddling with the affairs of his patients! Not just any patients, but one that was a special case. Archie had been working very hard to reach out to her and try to help her cope in some way with what was the inevitable. With Henry to set up that little meeting, all of his work could have been for absolutely nothing!

Yet that sound...that song. Archibald Hopper would never forget that beautiful, joyful noise that was Cherise Maia singing Ave Maria with all of her heart and soul. He had heard it said that the most wounded of souls made the most beautiful of art and music. It may very well have been true. Cherise did carry a lot of physical and a great deal of emotional pain with her. To be cliché, he would have claimed she sang like an angel. She was the snarky and unpleasant little woman who smelled of sweet tulips and sang with a voice to enchant.

As Archie sat in his car and looked into his rear view mirror, he had to laugh at himself for a moment. Was he truly that enamored with a voice? It wasn't professional. Yet she did promise she'd sing again. When the enjoyment ended, so would the songs.

Just when he thought she was figured out, there was another layer to Cherise. She was bitter and cold to keep people out. Yet on the inside, there was sweetness and warmth. He had seen it when she cradled her student to her and spoken to her affectionately. Though Archie had seen her wrath, an innocent child would only know her kindness and a comforting yet stern voice. She saved her mean streak and barbed tongue for the adults. So which was the true Cherise? Both, perhaps? Two sides to one tiny person?

Why did he even care? Why did it bother him so much over one patient? She was just a patient, wasn't she? A patient that he had two years to help.

Inhaling sharply, Archie climbed out of the car and walked towards the small house. He scratched at his ears for some indiscernible reason. A nervous tick? He did feel nervous. He was nervous and bothered over the thoughts in his head and the song that kept repeating.

As he waited on the front step, Archie could already smell the red gravy. Always gravy. Never sauce. He could still remember the gentle scoldings from Marco when someone tried to unceremoniously call it sauce. No, it was gravy. And he would always have the best lasagna. Tonight it was a simple meal of spaghetti and meatballs. Marco always made extra meatballs for Archie to take home to Pongo. The dog was spoiled by everyone in town! Pongo knew which houses to stop at for a snack of nilla wafers on their walks. He knew who would sneak him a Kanine Krunchie if he sat down long enough at a lamp post. He was a smart dog. It was likely a reflection of his training.

Archie smiled to himself. It was a compliment to the owner. He could do right by his dog. Yet to do right by his patients?

That would remain to be seen.

"Archie!" Marco greeted happily as he opened the door. He held up his hands dramatically and ushered the psychiatrist inside. His home was warm and smelled like a cross between freshly varnished wood and the sweet smells of Italian food. It was the smells of familiarity and comfort for Archie. It was that sameness he had richly desired earlier when the rain had started. Marco's was his home away from home.

"Take your coat off. Stay a while, Archie. You look, uh... Troubled." Marco half-smiled. His dear friend had something on his mind. It was bothering him. It picked at him. Whatever it was, it was scratching at his soul. It pawed at him and was draining his mental reserves. Archie was his dearest friend, perhaps his only friend in this lonely, quiet little town in Maine. Marco had learned to see through him. Subtle little telling signs were enough to speak volumes of the taller, younger man with light eyes and a perchance for wanting to help people. The listener that he was, he simply just wanted to reach out and do for others. Their meals together were often like that. Archie listened to Marco and would quietly give thoughtful responses. Everything was meant to be helpful.

Listening was an act of love. It was meant to grant some kind of reprieve from the world shattering down.

Archie Hopper was trying to play superhero and it was a sweet gesture. Marco appreciated it. Yet maybe he was trying to save too many people this time. Maybe the super hero got his cape caught and needed someone less super to help him this time. A favor could be repaid. For all the times that Archie had been there for him, Marco could be there for him.

As he stepped inside and hung up his coat on the finely crafted coat rack, Archie rolled his shoulders. He could feel Marco walk beside him and felt another smile in his direction. So he was being that poor at hiding his worries and the storm of emotions and doubts inside of him tonight. It was obvious? Too obvious? No. An old friend just knew too well. Lopsidedly, Archie returned the grin.

"A job for spaghetti therapy?"

"Like a good nonna would have wanted, yes!" With a heavy hand slapped against Archie's back, the two men walked towards the kitchen.

Dinner was set and already waiting for Archie to sit down to it. Garlic bread was warmed and sitting patiently in a basket for the men to break into. The steam was still rising from the large bowl of spaghetti. Red gravy was generously distributed amongst the pasta and a few graciously sized meatballs poked out like little hills through the grainy and tomato sea.

It was a welcomed sight. After his excitement in the church and the slight disappointment at the end, he was looking forward to a simple, yet magnificent meal like this. A little taste of Italy, a little taste of Marco's hospitality, and a reminder of their friendship. The promise of one thing that would not change was that, no matter what, there was always going to be dinner with Marco. If the sun chose not to shine forever or the sky chose to change colors, it didn't matter.

Archie had Marco.

The two men sat and enjoyed their meal. Joking and speaking of current events were normal. Nothing too new was going on with the town. Of course, there was the mentioning of the welcome sign being destroyed. There was the mention of Miss Emma Swan's appearance in Storybrooke and how her presence was starting to disrupt life for Archie's precious and protected patient, Henry Mills. He never brought work with him, but most knew Henry. They knew Archie had been treating him for a long time. Things had become difficult lately. Often, their relationship was friendly and almost, dare he say it? Sometimes it felt fatherly. He acted out of concern for the boy. Their conversations were usually simple things. They were normal things a boy would want to talk about. Sometimes they were things that they didn't want a mother to hear.

"So what do you think? She's pretty, eh? Very pretty, blonde woman." Marco winked at Archie. She was pretty, yes. Archie recalled their first meeting in the streets while walking Pongo. She was remarkable. She was also a very young woman. To him, Emma reminded him of an annoyed child at that moment. When she had visited his office later out of concern for Henry, she struck him as a concerned parent. He also found less of that irritated childishness and more of a womanly beauty about her. That day had been a disaster and he didn't want to think back on it. He still felt very guilty about giving into Regina's plan to have Miss Swan arrested.

She wasn't that bad. She wasn't that good, either. He was neutral. Henry was just not adjusting well. He needed time to quiet down and accept that his birth mother was in his life and had remained because of concern due to his well-being. Emma and Regina could co-exist and it could potentially be good for Henry to have more people to talk to.

He was a lonely child. He had no friends. He was mature for his age and wise beyond his years. He was also trying very hard, in his own way, to be helpful. He was trying to help others, Archie had come to understand in that very moment.

"I don't know if it's doing too good for Henry right now, but he's started becoming a little more...active, I guess, in trying to make a difference in our town. Today he had me spending the entire afternoon with another patient..."

Marco smirked. "No, I think that's because you're teaching him good. You're starting to rub off on him, Archie. I can see it. You make him want to do some good in Storybrooke. Make him wanna go out and change the world... Calls for some music! Hah!" Marco rose from his seat and allowed his fork with a twirled bit of spaghetti on the end to gracefully rest on his plate. The older man had a radio in his kitchen. It was rather ancient and the knobs required care to turn and tune the radio in to the station desired, but it still picked up plenty of stations.

Of course, Marco always managed to find some Italian station that played some pop music or would figure out how to get to a channel with opera. Archie never paid any mind. It was relaxing and sometimes just the feeling behind the lyrics sung was better than knowing what the translation was. With a large grin, Marco returned to his seat and continued with their little feast. The subject of Henry was no more. To Marco, it was enough that Henry was trying to do good. Yet to Archie, it felt more like meddling.

Cherise didn't seem very upset when they both left, though she did depart rather abruptly. She had gone chasing after Maggie and the nuns. To Archie, it was more like an excuse to flee. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like Cherise had used the hat and seeing Maggie off as a way out. Was he getting too close? Her words rang in his ears. To save those people who genuinely cared a lot of trouble, she would do all she could to prevent them from getting closer.

Archie set down his fork. Songs suddenly changed on the radio as he did. This song was soft and sweet. He didn't speak Italian, but he felt like his soul was being spoken to.

_Già la sento,_  
_già la sento morire,_  
_però è calma sembra voglia _  
_dormire;_  
_poi con gli occhi_  
_lei mi viene a cercare,_  
_poi si toglie_

"Wow." He breathed. "That's beautiful..."

"Andrea Bocceli. He is a blind singer. Very good. You...like the song? Is called Romanza."

"It's very pretty. You speak, Marco. Can you tell me what it means?"

Marco nodded and allowed the song to play a bit more. He stroked his chin a moment while letting the words register in his mind and picking up a worthy explanation of the song without taking away the beauty that the singer and the musical arrangement had put into the piece.

_anche l'ultimo velo,_  
_anche l'ultimo cielo,_  
_anche l'ultimo bacio._  
_Ah, forse colpa mia,_  
_ah, forse colpa tua,_  
_e così son rimasto a pensare_

Archie waited patiently. The song was so beautiful and with a name like Romanza, it must have meant something lovely. With a rudimentary knowledge of romance languages, well it meant Romance, didn't it?

"It is about a lover who knows the woman beside him is dying. He is thinking about the meaning of life and about who has fault." Marco shrugged. He couldn't simplify it much further than that. "Già la sento morire. I already hear her die...but she is calm as if she wants to sleep. Però è calma sembra voglia dormire. And in the song, she is searching for her lover for comfort while she is dying. Italian songs can be very sad, Archie. Archie?"

Archibald Hopper felt sick to his stomach and no longer wanted to eat. He could no longer see the plate in front of him. Now he saw Cherise again. Only he saw her weakened and reaching out. Friendless and lonely. She had no one. At the least, Archie had Marco.

He had Pongo. He even had Henry. Henry had meant well. Archie had little in his life, but those he did have? They mattered much. He didn't take them lightly. Who exactly did Cherise have? Did she have anyone who watched over her? What if Archie was the only one that close to her?

Slowly, Archie looked back up at Marco.

"...That's...a little ironic right now, actually." He finally chirped out, feeling small and weak at the moment. "Y-yeah a little too ironic right now. See, there's a patient of mine. And she's very sick. And you know, I think I might be failing her pretty badly right now."

Marco knitted his brows together in concern. He was about to start on a half portion of garlic bread, but this stopped him. "She is dying, Archie?"

Letting his gaze drop, he nodded. "That's the whole point of our sessions. And...what can I even do for her? I can't make her feel better. I can't make her well again. All I can do is help her accept she's going to die and help her cope better. Is that even helpful?"

Archie felt his breath hitch. He didn't like to question himself or his methods, but now he wondered what Cherise really needed. Did she need a therapist? A friend? A family member? Or did she need all of those things? He cared about her. After all of those sessions, he wanted to see her heal.

For what it was worth, he wished his prayer in church that afternoon had been heard. He really wanted a miracle for that tiny and irritable, yet secretly very sweet woman who hid herself away from the world and kept her problems to herself so less people would be concerned about her.

_avessi almeno il coraggio_  
_e la forza di dirti_  
_che sono con te._  
_(Ave Maria, ave Maria.)_  
_Ah, forse colpa mia,_  
_ah, forse colpa mia,_  
_e così son rimasto così_  
_son rimasto così._

"Archie? Archie? Earth to Archie...?" The older man waved a hand across the table to try to grab the bespectacled man's attention and pull him back into the kitchen where they sat. It took too more tries and a snapping of the fingers before Archie's eyes blinked and were on him.

"I am so sorry Marco. I can't stop thinking about this girl and how sick she is. Something we talked about today really bothered me. It was about how in two years, maybe less, she'd pass on and...how she's trying to keep as few people as possible from mourning her. It's not right. That sort of self-sacrifice..."

Marco let Archie trail off before reaching for his glass. It was a little wine for himself. Red wine did a heart good. Archie always refused because he had to drive home, but Marco had a glass every night. Taking a sip, he sighed.

"You'd do the same, wouldn't you? In her circumstance?"

Archie stopped himself and let his eyes wander around the room. He stared at the brilliant cuckoo clock on the wall. It was broken but it had been well-crafted. One day, Marco would figure out how to fix it. It was just so old it was easily broken. One day he'd figure out how to fix it without breaking it.

Perhaps one day he could fix Cherise.

"...I probably would, Marco. I just wish..."

"...That you could save everyone."

To lose one person, to fail one person weighed heavily on Archie. He'd reckon he'd probably end up alone with a whiskey bottle and not tell Marco or anyone, really. So what would happen in two years when Cherise died? Whiskey? Would he cry and mourn what should have been a healthy person trying to have relationships with people? Or was he projecting things he longed in life on a person who was running out of time?

Archie was starting to feel confused now. His own head was starting to bother him. He saw Cherise again in his mind, only this time she was in church and she was singing to him once again. Ave Maria was still such a sweet sound

Feeling a little more at ease with that image in his mind, Archie began to clean up his dishes from the meal. "Marco, she's sort of a special project, I guess. If I want to be selfish like that. I've seen two sides of her. She's not as tough as she makes herself out to be. Is it too much to want to help?"

There was a certain nervous determination when Archie spoke. His voice quivered but it was like there was a fire within him. He was steady as he carried his plates to the sink and rinsed them clean of the marinara. The look on his face spoke of a man on a mission. Marco knew that the noble hero wanted more than anything to save this person most of all.

"...Nah. Nah, Archie. But why her?"

With a firm exhale, Archie kept himself occupied with the dirty dishes as Marco bemusedly questioned his friend.

"Because everyone...needs someone. Right?"

With a wry smile, Marco carried over the other dishes to Archie. "You gonna be it? I dry. Move over, give me space." He gestured with his hands and gently pushed Archie aside to grab one of his faded dish towels. "So you gonna be her someone?"

"I don't know. I don't know anymore." Archie admitted quietly. "It's worth a try so long as I can finally help her, right?"

He had decided that Romanza was a terrible song, no matter how nice and romantic it seemed to be. No matter how appropriate it seemed for his circumstances, Archie resolved to never listen to the song on his own again.

But maybe one day he'd have Marco teach him a little Italian.


	5. The Problem With Monsters

Tu Me Manques

* * *

Summary: Dr. Archibald Hopper spends Tuesday afternoons helping a young kindergarten teacher coping with her own eventual death. The smell of tulips lingers heavily in his office. Archie (Jiminy)/OC

* * *

Chapter 5: The Problem With Monsters

Miss Maia had dismissed her class for the day and was busy hanging up artwork in the classroom. The wing reserved for the younger classes tended to be the most colorful and happy. The kindergarten hallway was the one that greeted parents and children with banners of colorful stars, paper cranes, smiling characters, and pinwheels that spun when the doors were opened and small gusts of wind rolled through the halls.

Wednesday was art day. Make something beautiful to take home to surprise someone you love. Cherise had liked these brief moments where children had free time to create anything they desired. It didn't matter if they were good. What mattered is that they liked what they made. They could have been painting, playing with pipe cleaners, or doing an origami project. It didn't matter.

Origami was therapeutic for her. She could manipulate the paper into any shape she wanted it to become. Life bent her into the small shape it had determined it wanted her to be. Her own revenge would be limited to paper. That was satisfactory enough.

Bright origami flowers of all kinds now sat in a clear vase on her desk. The time had been well spent. As for the students who had wanted to try their hand at origami, she had offered them a chance to try folding paper cranes and lucky stars. There was now a little jar of colorful stars on the desk. As for the cranes, they were still learning. They were a little roughly folded, but her students were becoming more and more skilled at making little cranes. When they would fold a thousand, she promised a fun project for her class to do. They would make a wish and do something good for their friends in the town of Storybrooke.

A smile was infectious. Doing nice things meant to plant seeds that would soon turn into smiles. Smiles would be popping up in all of Storybrooke. But if they had patience and they were true, they could fold one thousand cranes and make that wish. It wasn't yet decided on who exactly the friends in Storybrooke that her class would be helping for the day, but she was certain the experience would be worthwhile. Perhaps they could take food to the animal shelter. They could do a blanket drive and give them to the nuns! Though that would require some interacting with Mother Superior...

Cherise paled at the idea and could already feel a disgusting taste in her mouth just from the idea of having to speak to Mother Superior. It was a long time since they had even made eye contact. It wasn't that she was afraid of the woman. To the sprightly Cherise, the nun was all talk. Hot air.

She drew a breath to blow one of the pinwheels in her classroom to illustrate the thought in her mind. The colors spun in a mesmerizing swirl. All air and not much to it. Yes, that was the fierce Mother Superior who could make Sister Astrid tremble and sometimes cry.

Cherise cackled and moved to her chalk board. She started to erase the board of the day's lessons. A few bits of vital information were left and written over to look a bit neater. Reminders of birthdays and what the current month was were made to look a bit more pretty. Taking some colored chalk, the tiny teacher stood on her toes and began to draw on her board. She drew whimsical balloons around the birthday announcements and covered the month with suggestions that the cold weather would be getting a little warmer soon. Cherise would be looking forward to shedding the scarves and heavy jackets for the lighter spring coats and brighter colors that were springtime.

She missed the spring. Spring meant tulips, much like the paper imitations that now occupied her desk. Spring would be a welcomed distraction from her failing health. These days it felt like her attacks were more pronounced. Pains were sharper at night. Side effects from her treatments were more draining. She was a bit more snappish at people.

As that thought crossed her mind, she thought of all the times she took out her pain on Dr. Hopper. Mostly, her rage had been directed at his office and it was her defense mechanism. Much like an animal giving a good growl or a hiss, a broken frame or a slammed door was a way to tell him not to get too close. Yet after yesterday's little break through which then led into the ill-fated performance at the church, Cherise found herself stuck. If she didn't start to protect herself, her therapist was going to wedge himself in her world. For what? All in the name of making sure her final days were easy? Filled with comfort? That there would be as few regrets as possible when she passed on?

And what exactly was she thinking when she promised to sing again? Cherise's tiny and stubby fingers tightened around the chalk. It cracked and left a great deal of dust around her fingers and palms.

"Damn!"

Chalk added up after a while. She went through quite a few boxes as it was! Cursing under her breath, Cherise set down the tiny nibs of chalk. At least they were still useful for coloring.

The sickly woman turned from the board and found herself facing the door. Within the doorway stood Henry Mills and that book of his. There wasn't much attention she paid to the book. Yet the mayor's son? It had been four years since he had been in this classroom. If she remembered correctly, wasn't Henry one of her first students? Memories were so fuzzy. If she tried to think back to far, Cherise could hear this strange whistling noise and sometimes, just sometimes, she'd feel a pain in her back that would bring her to her knees.

Yet she was certain she remembered a much younger Henry Mills standing in her classroom much like he was doing right now.

"Mr. Mills. A journey to yesterday to enlighten your today. What can Miss Maia do for you?" Cherise raised her eyebrows in pleasant surprise. Round two, maybe? This could have been about Archie. They were both patients of his. Cherise made her way towards the doorway and beckoned Henry into the empty, yet bright classroom. The two made an odd sight. Cherise was only slightly taller than Henry.

This delighted Henry in his mind and only reassured him that Cherise truly was the character he believed her to be. Miss Cherise Maia had to be Thumbelina. To him, it made perfect sense. She was tiny and she liked flowers. If only he could talk to her more, maybe he could understand. Maybe he could have her help with convincing Archie he really was Jiminy Cricket!

A kindergarten teacher was different than other teachers. At least, to Henry, that's what he assumed. With all of the colors and hanging stars and decorations, Miss Maia must have believed in magic. At the end of the story he knew, Thumbelina earned a pair of wings. But the book was much more confusing. The story of Thumbelina ended more abruptly and made less sense to Henry. He'd have to think on the story and examine it more.

What was important now was getting the teacher on his side. She could be the perfect ally!

"I wanted to say sorry for yesterday. Archie and I talked when he dropped me off and I shouldn't have done that."

Cherise smirked at the boy and shook her head. Grabbing one of the small chairs that her students sat in during class time, she sat backwards and rested her elbows on the back of the chair.. It was hardly comfortable, yet Cherise didn't seem too out of place. With a tiny giggle, she closed her eyes. "You hardly mean that. It's because you worry about Dr. Hopper, isn't it?"

The boy before her stared back curiously. She didn't seem too mad. She seemed more amused than mad. So what had Maggie with her yellow had been talking about? Or maybe Henry was just lucky enough to avoid Cherise's wrath. She didn't sound disappointed. She didn't seem like she was about to lecture him like a teacher normally would. He could already hear anyone else droning on about how it wasn't the way things were done and that Henry needed to focus on being a boy and on his studies.

Yet Cherise just watched him with warmth in her eyes. It made him feel like he was being hugged. With circumstances being so strange with his birth mother and his adoptive mother, he liked that burst of warmth. Up was now down and everything was sideways, but there was still that kind support by a few people in his life. He could find that in his homeroom teacher. Archie gave him a place to turn to. Now it seemed that through Operation Cobra and working to wake up the fairy tale characters on his own, he may have found a kind soul within Cherise.

"Well...uh. Sometimes. He's sorta...lonely?" Henry rolled his tongue against his teeth as he thought about the words before selecting them. "I mean, he's got Marco and he's got Pongo. But he could go out more."

Lonely. Dr. Hopper was lonely? Wasn't everyone lonely? Everyone needed someone. Not her, though. She didn't need anyone. She didn't want anyone. Less mess. Those were all things she couldn't tell Henry. They were secrets and they were hidden away. Only very few people could know and it wasn't for the most innocent of minds like Henry to stumble into. Though he was older, it was still best to shield him.

"Well...he's got you, Henry. You're looking out for him, kid. You're good like that. A real, regular guardian of the people. A friend to all. Betcha anything you'd make a nice knight or something, like my picture books in here!" Cherise grinned at the boy and gestured to the shelves beneath the windows. The picture books were neatly sorted for a child to simply reach over and discover a new world of possibilities.

This classroom was much like a different world for Henry. He was never encouraged to think about knights before. If he told her about how he had conned their therapist into the church "date" yesterday, she'd probably have a little laugh at the saint he had picked out as a ruse. To think about knights and heroics in such a bright classroom, surrounded by bright colors and encouraged to think about good things? Helping people? Henry didn't mind the idea of coming back here to think about the book again. For now, he couldn't show Cherise. Maybe if he could have her start believing, then he could show her his world, just like she had shared her world when he was so very small.

Henry hesitantly shrugged and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Knights usually fight dragons and monsters, though. I'm just trying to help some people out."

Cherise scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Henry. Anyone tell you something important about those things? It's not about knowing about them. See, there are hundreds upon thousands of monsters and nasties in the world. That's not the important part. It's knowing that you can defeat them. No matter how ugly adversity is, you can always defeat a monster or dragon, no matter how it manifests itself."

_Even if a dragon is loneliness._

"Because everyone has some kind of scary monster following them, Henry. The object is...to defeat it. You could do some more reading of picture books."

With her nose in the air and her eyes shut for theatrics, Cherise soon burst into laughter.

Henry joined in her laughter. If only she knew how much reading he was doing. The woman slid in her chair and was about to speak again. As a little sound slipped from her, Henry decided to cut her off.

"If we all have a monster, then what's the monster that bothers you?"

Instantly, the slight of a woman now regretted her words. It was an important lesson to impart, but it seemed no matter where she went, the world was hellbent on figuring out what ailed her. Why don't you smile more? Why do you save your happiness for the classroom? Why do you sometimes walk with your one hand on your back and the other on your stomach? Why are you so cold?

She was being cornered. The entire population of Storybrooke was cornering her and they all wanted to know something that she considered to be only her business. She was dying and she wanted that to be kept to herself. There would only be a few people who needed to know what they needed to know. That was that!

Her breathing was a bit more rapid while her mind threw around thousands of ideas. What was her monster? What was her dragon? Henry was what, ten? Eleven years old? He could understand more, but she didn't need her business returning to Mayor Mills. It was bad enough six people in town knew she was dying. Mr. Clark knew. Dr. Hopper knew. Two was already a party. Six people knew. Mother Superior knew! A hospital janitor knew! One who got drunk and had loose lips! That was risky enough. Six people in total. Six too many.

Cherise folded her arms. "...My dragon, huh? ...I don't know, Henry. I guess my dragon is...uh. My wishes don't come true."

It was a half lie. It satisfied Cherise and it wouldn't weigh heavily on her when she slept. When did a wish come true for her? She'd never be healthy like everyone else. She was always weak. Lagging behind where everyone else enjoyed good health and good fortune, Cherise felt herself trapped in a darker world. Yet no one could know. She'd either smile, return words with biting sarcasm with wit, or chase people away.

"See people make wishes and they sometimes come true," Cherise started off in a light voice. "Mine just don't. So...that's my monster. That's a big problem when I make a wish for pizza."

In all honesty, she didn't even know what pizza tasted like. The spices and the cheese would make her too sick and she'd spend an entire day in bed. Even drinking water could be difficult. She had to drink out of a glass marked off with how many servings she could have in one day. After that, she could chew gum to trick her mouth into feeling like she had just taken a drink. Or she could always swish the water around in her mouth and spit. Of course, that was a little gross.

These things were too complicated to explain to people in public. Why have someone like Henry hear an explanation like that? Though Cherise could wish for a pizza and certainly find the means for it, her wish wasn't coming true any time soon.

Henry started at Cherise in confusion. It seemed outrageous to think that her wishes couldn't come true, but the curse was doing strange things in town. He was inclined to believe her at this point. If she couldn't have simple things like pizza, he wondered what other things were out of her reach. Did Thumbelina ever get her wings? Was that why Cherise couldn't have simple and nice things here in Storybrooke? Henry adjusted his book under his arm and watched her carefully.

"I don't know what my dragon is." He lied carefully and with precision. Henry knew his dragon was more of a physical one. There was a curse to be broken and he had to help weaken and break it. "But maybe I'll figure it out someday? Right Miss Maia?"

"Sure will. And once you do? You'll get it. And I think you'll help others with their dragons. Sorta like how... Dr. Hopper is helping me with mine." She let out a puff of air and scrunched up her face.

Henry couldn't resist the set-up the teacher had left him with. Normally with adults, he would be respectful. Cherise was too warm and a little silly when alone. Taking that moment, the mayor's son quipped back at the four foot woman."...He's gonna help you order a pizza?"

"Sure! Why not! With extra green peppers and onions! And broccoli! I'll grow big and tall and join a basketball team. Harlem Globe Trotters! I'll be on tv and you can watch me." Unable to control herself, Cherise allowed her sarcasm to fly freely. Henry grinned. As Cherise had thought earlier, smiles were infectious things. She too, smiled. Despite all of the pain she had and how much it had increased lately, there was nothing in this world quite like speaking to and sharing laughter with a child.

"And you should be heading home, Mr. Mills. It is past dismissal and I fear I have an appointment to keep."

"With Archie?"

"Ah, someone else."

Henry raised an eyebrow and scrutinized the teacher for a moment. Cherise mirrored the boy's face and tapped her foot on the rug below. Clock shaped and brightly illustrated, her foot landed on a purple seven repeatedly. Her left eye squinted in the most cartoonish fashion before Henry gave a tiny wave goodbye and exited the classroom.

Alone again, Cherise finally could move towards her desk and gather her things. It wasn't an appointment with Archie, no. She would have rather stayed in that office. It was relaxing to stretch out on the couch while simply talking. Dialysis at the hospital was experienced in a tiny room in an uncomfortable vinyl chair. She always brought origami paper and, being very mature, coloring books and crafts to do while being stuck in her seat.

If only it could be Thursday. Thursday meant a party. It was her idea of a party, at least. Almost anonymously, she could share in one of her loves. It was just a little something to look forward to and prove she was human.

With her head tilted down and focusing on her bag, she heard the sound of footsteps at her classroom door again. She smirked inwardly and guessed to herself that Henry had returned. After his quiet goodbye, she assumed he might be back.

"Mr. Mills, if you're keeping someone waiting, they aren't going to be happy."

A soft clearing of the throat and a slightly deeper, more masculine voice told her that she guessed wrong. Cherise looked up to see Archie Hopper at her classroom with some look of concern and being completely lost on his face. Noticing the man's awkward shuffling and inability to introduce himself beyond clearing his throat, Cherise took that moment to be, well, herself.

"Thought you were my psychiatrist. What, you want a lock of my hair or something?"

The red haired man nearly backed himself away from the classroom. Cherise grinned at her devilish and inappropriate comment and had to run to the doorway.

"Normally we don't see each other! Just on Tuesday. So I thought I'd jest, especially considering last time was pretty serious."

She pressed her shoulder against the doorway and looked up at Archie. There was that smile that hid every bit of pain and suffering. Archie knew it all too well. It was almost too exaggerated. It showed her dimples, but never her teeth. Everything the smile said, her eyes betrayed. If one looked far enough into them, there was a little sparkle of pain. Deciding to try a tried and true tactic, Archie let himself sag a bit.

"How are you feeling? Really and honestly?"

"I'm hurting today and the meds aren't helping. I'm headed to dialysis in a few minutes."

"I mean it Ch- You...you told me the truth."

"Yeah."

She played with her hands and stopped looking at him for the moment. Picking at her nails while forcing the absolute truth was the most she could do. Giving someone a straight answer was difficult when for all of the time she had her condition, she was so used to the automatic answer that she was fine. A few of her bangs fell a bit loose over her forehead, but there was no effort made to fix them. It was taking too much concentration to answer with the truth. When one was all too used to making sure no one worried about her well being, this wasn't much of her "happy place".

Archie, on the other hand, felt himself amazed. He had been ready to apologize again for Henry's behavior, as well as his own for the church date. And yet, he wanted to explain how worried he had felt all night. He still blamed the song for getting under his skin and forcing him to rethink his fears as a psychiatrist as well as an acquaintance. They may have ran deeper than that, but he wasn't ready to examine them further. To think of them as friends was a stretch, but he would try if Cherise would let anyone else into her world.

"I was out of line with the whole listening to you sing," Archie at last admitted with a tiny sputter.

Cherise gasped and covered her mouth with a hand before tiptoeing off to get her bag. "Oh. Horrible... Woe is me. I told you I'd sing again and...I meant every word. You're weird. I said I would. Take the offer, would you? You really enjoyed it, I really enjoy singing. I do art things." Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she reached up to tap a very low hanging string of papercranes.

Archie could understand her passionate rants on children and teaching now. She had turned her class into a sort of play-world that balanced itself out with education. He couldn't help but feel a little distracted by the bookshelf filled with colorful tomes, or the corner with imagination based toys and a dress-up closet.

"You're not a fish." Cherise grumbled and pointed her fingers as she wrestled for the keys in her bag with her free hand. "Your mouth is open. Do you want me to be a teacher or...?"

"Oh!" Archie hadn't noticed his mouth open in awe and shut his mouth. He could hear that distinctly mean snickering he was very accustomed to. It was still that same woman alright. She had changed a little, but not much. There was still much of that strange fire. There was a defiant light within her.

His eyes met with hers.

"Um. Dr. Hopper. You kind of have to move so I can get to the car so I can leave." Cherise grinned up cheekily and made a few gestures with her hands. "Make like a tree and get the hell out of my way."

It was another point against him. He wasn't reacting so well. Backing away and allowing Cherise to move, he turned off the lights in the classroom for her. She locked the door and he followed her down the hall.

"So you're okay?"

Cherise walked (almost) shoulder to shoulder with Archie as he spoke to her. It was still fairly strange that he had decided to simply show up to check on her, but she did appreciate it. Somehow, it was a nice little mental boost.

"Cherise, are you okay?" Archie repeated with a bit more concern. "You're walking with a hunch."

_Why do you walk with a hand on your back and one on your stomach._

With rapid-fire nastiness, Cherise snapped. "I'm in pain. I told you!" Her eyes widened when she realized just who she snapped on. "...I didn't mean... I'm just... It's a bad day. I have more bad days than good. I'm sorry. You've been great in helping me lately. Just please don't take what I did just now personally. I could use some help. So it's good I have dialysis today, right?"

He wasn't a medical doctor. He could follow along with a few things about Cherise's condition. He only knew about what she explained, which was little. What he did comprehend was that her appointment was going to last a few hours and it was usually very boring for her. If she didn't have papers to grade, she made a mess with origami covering the tables. Or she could always just terrorize a nurse or two. Archie didn't approve of bothering the nurses, but at least she kept herself busy. Extra pain could mean something more, though.

Cherise would be sitting there alone while the nurses poked her with needles and waited for her blood to get filtered out. Who would be there if that pain was a little more than just pain?

_Stop it. You're going to worry over nothing. She is in complete control over her condition. But she did say this was different... _Archie felt his mind scolding himself no matter what thoughts he had.

"Do you...want company?" He asked with a tone of wariness weighing down his voice.

"At dialysis? You mean you're gonna sit there a couple of hours? Don't you have people who need you right now?" Cherise's voice went up two octaves. At the sound, Archie's blue eyes flashed a bit at the shock of the noise. It was soft, yet so high. It was almost fitting of her size. Why did it sound so hurt and flattered at the same time?

"I wouldn't mind. What if that pain gets worse and you need someone there? I know you've done things on your own before, but...how about a change? I'm a little worried about your health."

No one in her life had ever worried about her before. While Cherise was certain she had parents at one point, she didn't remember them and she couldn't be certain they cared. It was a very foreign feeling to her and it felt like her insides twisted. At that moment, there was an even more intense feeling of twisting. It was more physical. A little wince said she had felt something.

Sensing her discomfort, Archie placed a hand on her shoulder. "Cherise?"

"It's fine. I'm used to it." She wheezed after the attack was over. "Alright. Come sit with me. It's really boring and you can leave when you want. I'll meet you there?"

"Can I drive you? You're not feeling well." Archie answered softly. He would understand easily if she rejected him, however-

"Yes. That's...alright. That's very alright. I don't mind at all."

Cherise was sure she had lost her mind. She had just agreed to letting Dr. Archibald Hopper sit in on her dialysis sessions, as well as be her ride to the hospital! Something very tiny within her told her not to make a habit of this and that only bad things could potentially happen. She knew her plan of keeping Archie out had failed miserably, but just how badly had she failed, exactly?

With a little gasp of air, she started to walk again.

Archie took half his normal strides so that Cherise could better keep up in her pained state. When she had more strength, he returned to his normal speed. By that time they had made their way to the end of the hall.

Cherise pressed her body against the door and looked up at Archie with a crooked smile. "Hey. Thanks. Dialysis is...really lonely."

"I wasn't doing anything tonight and I was worried about you. I figured we could be lonely together?" Archie smiled back and helped push the door open.


	6. The Spurned Child

Tu Me Manques

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Summary: Dr. Archibald Hopper spends Tuesday afternoons helping a young kindergarten teacher coping with her own eventual death. The smell of tulips lingers heavily in his office. Archie (Jiminy)/OC

Disclaimer: Not my greatest chapter. Took the longest to write due to writer's block and health issues hitting me hard. One of two fairytale chapters to explain some background.

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Chapter 6: The Spurned Child

The feral fairies that lived deep within the woods and bound themselves to nature were not born of laughter or the joy of children. They lived in a system of courts with their own sets of laws and orders. Their intentions were not like the ones who granted wishes and blessings and helped the people of the world sleep, but rather they were hedonistic creatures. Selfish little winged beings that they were, it was the only nature they knew. Mischief was a fun game to these fairy-folk. Yet they were still fairies, one in the same. The wishing cousins may have been horrified at the barbaric acts the feral fairies took part in, but they also calmly accepted they did not understand the lives of the fairy courts.

To be born of laughter and happiness was to be free. To be bound by a king or queen was to be thrust into a world of politics, rules, wild parties, and lives that were never quite your own. One cousin did not desire the the life of the other. To the one, that was where they simply needed to be. That was where they belonged. Such would be life.

One to wish. One to revel. One to toil. One to trick.

Fairies would always be complicated beings.

A birth in a fairy court was a celebrated occasion. It meant a bloodline would reign over a forest and keep order. This birth, however, was a secret that these forests would keep hidden until age reclaimed the bark and the earth dried and was no longer fertile. When the animals left, perhaps the world would know of this fairy child. Until then, there would be no speaking of her.

For she was born without wings.

In the eyes of her kin, that made her unworthy.

Oberon, king of the Northern Forests, had been blessed with a daughter. She was smaller than what fairies would consider normal and she had been born without wings. A fairy was always born with a set of gossamer wings that neatly folded against the back. They grew in grandness with power and with the longer their reign lasted. This child would amount to nothing. No little wings to grow and blossom could very well indicate she was born with no magic at all.

Though to her kin she would be ugly and unsightly without a pair of precious wings, she was at least loved for a moment. For a brief moment in her life, she held the love of one person in the world. The child slept peacefully as Robin Goodfellow admired her. She slept in a cradle made of a walnut shell. His eyes, an earthen clay, seemed to spark to life with adoration.

"Your Ladyship? This is the Lord's daughter?" His voice was breathy. Never before had the impish fellow, in all of his many years of existence, ever viewed something he felt was so precious. The trickster felt something stir in his heart as he gently rocked the cradle for the fairy queen. Even if the child was imperfect to their world and their workings, to the merry trickster, she was perfect. Something hurt him when he realized the magnificent and glowing queen would not even glance down at the newborn. What sort of cruel world would be in store for this little one? All because she wasn't perfect?

Her silence made the room feel bitter. Normally such a thing would not affect Puck. He was used to the strange affairs and Titania's moods towards Oberon. He would always admit that he deserved it, but towards a child? Who could hate flesh and blood? He distracted his wild mind by trailing his forefinger down the child's cheek.

"She is not." The silence shattered with the firm and graceful sound of the fairy queen's answer. "She is not."

This caused Puck to draw his finger away. Titania's words burned him and hurt his soul. The tiny one was to be disowned so soon, then?

"She is not My Lord's."

Robin glanced up from the sleeping infant's sweet face and stared in wonder at the fairy queen. If she wasn't Oberon's child, then who? It was possible there were other fairies, but Robin could hardly recall Titania having as many companions as the king did. She did not seek as much company as he did. Titania was content among her ladies and spending hours dancing among the flowers in the springtime. That wasn't to say that the queen was completely faithful. There were times and it was to be expected, of course. There were always parties to celebrate the changing of the seasons or the fine handiwork done on a harvest.

Titania nearly floated to the cradle and lifted the slumbering babe into her arms. She began to hum a low tune as she cradled the wingless girl, leaving Robin alone in his silent questioning. The graceful queen swirled around the room and allowed her golden curls to bounce down her back as she slowly danced with her daughter. Deep within her aching soul, she knew this would be the only time she could hold her.

"I will call her Maya," Titania announced in a soft and gracious voice. "For every child deserves a name. Even one without magic. For you are still my daughter, little Maya. Our daughter." She raised her green eyes to rest on Robin's form. The trickster fae stumbled,visibly shaken by the Lady's words. Surely, she didn't mean what she said. Our daughter? As in, their daughter? Robin stood before Titania and watched her as she tended to the sleeping, wingless newborn.

His mouth went dry. He could feel a strange twisting of his soul. Robin Goodfellow had a child. He had a daughter.

And he could not keep her.

Puck looked back to the empty cradle and felt himself wrought with emotion. For the first time in his life, he did not feel that anxiousness that itched and gnawed to make him cause mischief. There were no tricks. He felt no purpose to drive him at this very moment. For the only time in his life, Puck felt completely empty. In a low voice, he finally spoke to Titania.

"She has no wings because she was born out of love."

Titania's gentle dancing ceased abruptly and she turned from Puck. The Fairy Queen would not allow the Merry Wanderer of the Night to see how deeply hurt she was. So soul-sick was she that their child could not be kept, lest Oberon's wrath be brought down upon them both. Tears collected at the corners of her glittering beryl eyes as she stared back at Puck. The stalwart queen, often able to freeze the fearsome and noble Oberon of the Northern Forests, the beautiful and wise Titania, wept for their daughter. She wept for a life that could never be. She wept for a love that she could only have in secret during the traditional parties where it was fit for the royal fairies to slip away from their mates, citing "needs" and "wants".

"Oh, Robin... What will become of our Maya?"

Though Puck had been hardened by centuries of existence and eons of trickery, her voice snapped the thorns around his heart and softened him. The impish fairy wrapped his willowy arms around the queen and looked over their tiny daughter. "We'll think of something, My Lady. We'll think of something. No matter what, I'll keep our Maya safe. Even if I have to lie, I'll keep her safe." It was against Puck's own code to lie. Honesty was a strict way he did business with other fairies and tampered with the mortal realm. To lie to the king he worked under could mean death, but it did not matter. Things changed when one became a father. Now Puck knew what the humans felt with their own children.

The tiny being breathed softly in her mother's arms. Perfect, yet imperfect, little Maya slept on. She would be ignorant to her birthday's woeful tidings and the darkness it had brought upon Oberon's Court. No bigger than the thumb of a human, even small by the standards of a fairy, she slept.

Robin felt a sickening feeling in his stomach as Titania returned Maya to her cradle. He coughed and tried to force the tears and ill-feeling away.

"It won't be long until My Lord summons us to decide her fate." Without wings, a fairy had no worth. Even a newly born fairy was judged harshly. As far as Oberon knew, Maya was the princess and heir to his realm. If Titania and Puck could keep him in the dark, perhaps the fragile and defenseless bean-like babe could have her life spared. Surely something could be done!

Titania had only just laid the child down when the doors to her chambers had been smashed open. In stormed the fairy king and in his steps sprouted tiny flames that fizzled into ash in the air to better warn those around him of his rage. Oberon held onto the handles of the door with his hands rattling in his anger. "Where?" He whispered darkly.

"Where is the little undesirable? Are you hiding it?!" He flew into an immediate frenzy and stared down Titania as she stood by the walnut shell cradle, looking innocent and hurt by Oberon's accusations.

"No, my lord. She is sleeping. Not so loud," Titania replied with a kind smile and an outstretched hand. It was often a game of emotions and toying with the king. When he was in a foul mood, Titania would play the sweeter, more angelic of the two. It served her better to use honey than vinegar to catch a fly. And a bothersome, loathsome fly was how Oberon often became when in an enraged state. Yet this time, blinded by rage and possible shame, he could only spew back hatred. There would be no game with his queen.

"Let her wake up! She doesn't belong here!" Oberon hissed back. "She should have never taken a breath! Why haven't you smothered her in her cradle yet?! Let me do it!"

Rolling up his sleeves, the fairy king stomped towards the cradle. Titania let out a shrill cry and threw her arms over the child, bursting into tears. Puck leapt towards the king while trying to hide the fear in his eyes. Embers flew from the heels of the royal, burning his skin as he raced to his majesty's side.

"Sir! Sir! Your Highness! Please!"

_Not my daughter! _Puck screamed in his mind._ She's my baby! I don't care if she's not perfect! She's perfect to me!_

Oberon looked darkly upon Puck. His mahogany eyes burned with the same passion of the embers that sprung up at his feet. Through his canine-like teeth, his voice stayed at a guttural and threatening level.

"And the little wretch must have charmed you as well. My most faithful emissary, my trusted friend, the esteemed Robin Goodfellow. You would never betray me. Why do you speak for this...this monster? She brings shame to our court!"

Titania began to wail quietly and clung Maya to her breast. Still, the child did not wake. There were small miracles even amongst the feral fairies. Though wishes could not be cast or favors asked for, Puck considered himself very lucky that baby Maya still slept. He looked to the distraught queen, then back towards Oberon and all of the hatred and fire that radiated from every inch of him. From the tips of his wings, red with the black outlines quivering, Puck sensed that there could be no happy outcome.

He dropped to his knee before Oberon and touched his head to his hand, unable to look up to gauge his emotions just yet.

"My lord, if I may, your child's birth has not been made official and has not been recorded. I understand that a wingless child is shameful, but any bloodline can always be useful in case of something unfortunate, isn't that so? She is a girl-fae, my lord." Puck opened his right eye half way in an act of half bravery. The entire room had seemed to cool down. Noticing the relative easing, Titania had even calmed a bit and had changed to sniffling over the newborn. The embers that had sparked from Oberon's very steps had fizzled out and an irritable glow was all that was left behind.

"This...is true. Rise, Robin."

Robin felt a weight lifted from his chest as he rose from his knees. He straightened his vest and fiddled with his golden buttons to look presentable.

The easily angered king had backed away from the cradle and was now pacing before Titania's bed. He mumbled to himself and beckoned with his bony and pale index finger for his emissary to follow. Puck joined in in his circle pacing for what felt like an eternity until the king came to a stop, causing Puck to trip over his foot and sending him falling face-first into the floor of wood and dirt. With Oberon around, Puck did not complain. He simply closed his eyes, pulled himself off the ground, and stood beside the king. There was nothing to gain in angering the fairy king, especially a king within his realm. Besides, Puck reminded himself that he was a father now.

"The child cannot stay, however. She is a blight. She must be sent away. I refuse to recognize her as my own and she will not be kept here. What would others think, Robin, if I had a wingless abomination living here?!" Oberon sputtered. "Preposterous."

Puck's hope was suddenly ripped away. That happy feeling of fatherhood was now gone.

Titania made a hurt noise and turned away. She sat on her bed while focusing on the child and refused to acknowledge Oberon any longer. Her green eyes were distant, yet still would flicker with joy to look down upon baby Maya in her arms. Puck could only continue to hide the hidden hate that was in his head. Oberon could speak as much as he want about tradition and about rankings amongst other realms, but it wasn't actually his child he sent away. He had no love in a single bone in his body.

Puck bowed his head as graciously as he could force himself. "I am your emissary, sir. What would you suggest I aid you with?"

The fiery fairy king returned to the walnut cradle and gently tapped at the side. "Take the child as far as you may go and find someone else to raise her. I do not want her. No wings, no magic! A failure, Robin. She'll amount to nothing. But you said a bloodline. That's true. One day we'll return to bring her home and marry her off to someone who wants her. I surely don't." That was, perhaps, the problem with most of the feral fairies. Most of them could not feel. Love was beyond their reach. Lust was certainly something they enjoyed. Hedonism was practiced. But true love? It was so rare that it had to be held onto and treasured.

Oberon departed after his instructions. There was no congratulations towards his wife or an inquiry to her feelings. It was simply what was going to happen with the court and nothing more.

Titania watched the doors click shut. Once she was certain were both alone, she ran her thumb across Maya's forehead. "My Lord is, most certainly, an ass. To say he has the looks of one would be insulting to the entire animal kingdom. Be pleased he is not your father, but rather your father is the merry wander of the night, the White Faun, the hobgoblin Robin Goodfellow."

Puck smiled weakly and looked back to the walnut cradle. Little did Oberon know of Maya's true paternity. He would remain ignorant for the rest of his days and for all of his reign if Puck could see it fit. He watched mother and daughter with admiration. They were a beautiful picture, like one Puck had often heard human women sing to their children in lullabies as they whisked them to bed before warning them about the mischief-making fairies lurking in the shadows at the midnight hour and the more kind and angelic fairies who would make their wishes come true if only they were selfless, brave, and honest children. Puck sighed in his fantasy of parenthood. If he could have those sweet moments like the men and women who lived far outside the fairy realms, perhaps he could be happy.

"Robin," Titania whispered, jarring Puck from his thoughts. She held out the sweetly slumbering Maya to her father. "I've...said my goodbyes and made my peace." The Queen of the Northern Forests dropped her eyes and placed her right hand over the infant fae's chest.

"By the northern winds and the winding rivers, your name is now a secret and your magic sealed...for safe keeping..." There was a flash of green from her finger tips and a gentle breeze that wrapped around the baby. At last, the child opened her eyes. With a sad smile, Titania turned away. "This is for your own good. Only we can know your name. And should you ever come by any magic within you, it will be sealed. To protect you. For a wingless fairy would be unpredictable. One day, little one. One day. Mark my words, one day you will do something very beautiful. Perhaps you will remove the Lord from his throne. That day I will raise an army and perhaps I should fight beside you. It would be a glorious day, daughter."

Titania brightened at her wish. "Yes. A kind and benevolent usurper. Or maybe you'll be the kindest being ever to have been born. But you are my child, my little precious spark... One day we will meet again and I will return your name to you. I will speak it again on that day." She crouched down to kiss the cheek of the infant, then turned away. The room went immediately cold as Titania's thoughts were drawn to other matters. Puck could not be sure if they were thoughts of hate against Oberon or regret against having a child. He only knew that Titania was a moody fairy and losing a child in this way would only make the climate of the court very frosty for a long time. It could be years until Titania spoke to Oberon again. Ice could cover his Ladyship's room by the time he had returned from his trip.

The child was gently returned to her walnut cradle and pulled into Puck's arms. He was well aware this was the first and last time that he would hold his daughter. It was best not to dwell on something like this. He had lived an eternity already. This child would grow and live an eternity as well. One day, Puck would find her and tell the story. It was a bright patch in a bleak moment. He would not experience teaching her how to best sneak up on an elderly farming crone or how to best curdle milk when a household had cursed their names, but he could one day speak to her and teach her other things.

As Puck dashed from the palace and sprung from deep within the wood, he gently tapped on the walnut cradle. "This isn't goodbye, you see. This is just the start! Heh, you see, Papa loves you and he's going to find a good place for you. That's right. There's a place for you."

The rain drizzled down on the impy fairy and his newly born daughter. He threw his earthen cloak over the cradle to shield the baby from the rain. The smell of flowers and soil was soothing and shaded the girl, bringing her back to sleep while Puck bounced from ground to leaf to tree then back to the ground again. It was nearly nightfall when Puck had reached a tiny hamlet by the ocean. He wheezed and puffed as he pressed his back by the fence post. A downpour had started and there would be no more traveling for the trickster. If he had been alone, the weather could never bother him. He had the child to think about. His baby needed shelter. She needed her place to stay and very soon. Sagging against the post, it took him a moment to realize that fence post was indeed a fence and surrounded a garden that belonged to a farmhouse. The garden was a bit meager, having been a bit worn from the recent frost. What did grow was growing strong and in many colors. The occupants of this farm were likely skilled with gardening.

Even in the muted and fading light, Puck could see there was love placed into the area around the house. The house itself was small. It was humble and cared for. To him, it was a good sign. He rushed down the pathway and glanced upwards, noticing a windowsill. It was a dry spot that seemed to be a perfect place to rest for the night. Grinning, Puck clutched the walnut and hopped up the side of the house and to the sill. A flower box was attached to the sill and growing from the soil were tulips. They were small. Normally, tulips were left to grow in the earth. Perhaps they were going to be sold in a bouquet or transferred to the garden. Maybe the bulbs were not thought to be very healthy, but the gardener still wanted to take a chance and nurture the beautiful purple flowers, granting them a chance to grow like the rest of the garden.

A chance. The tulips had a chance. Why couldn't his daughter have a chance to grow and be happy? Puck held the walnut tightly against his side and pulled aside his cloak to peer into the cradle. The baby peered up at her father and blinked tiredly for a moment. She yawned and stretched out her delicate and tiny body, then had shut her eyes again.  
She was a beautiful flower to Puck. Just like the tulips that had blossomed, she deserved such a chance.

Night was falling and the concerned father knew he was useless without rest. Even fairies slept. Even the timeless Robin Goodfellow needed to rest his eyes and collect his strength for the morning. The tulips he had observed seemed so inviting. The petals were like soft velvet. Titania often favored the petals and used them as over-skirts on her gowns. These tulips, while short, seemed to have petals large enough to hide himself in. It would be enough for him and the child, though the truth was, an ideal place would be warmed and by the fire.

Puck set the cradle down on the sill and took his sleeping child in his arms. It was difficult to climb into a tulip. With barely a hand free, Puck gently moved his daughter to his left arm to support her while climbing into the tulip.

His legs ached and he longed to be returned to the palace. Puck nearly collapsed into the soft inside of the tulip and found himself curling around the center. His dark eyes grew heavy and his body was weary. The baby slept swaddled in his cloak. She was comfortable and quiet. There wasn't a single cry from her, just a coo of being content once in a while. As Puck drifted off to sleep, his last image was of his daughter. It was his first and only night with Maya. It was a nice memory to be left with.

When Puck awoke in the morning, it was later in the day. The sun was already high in the sky and he could feel the warmth pulling at the petals of the tulip.

The baby fairy had awoken and begun to cry.

"What's that?"

Puck had heard a voice. It was distinctly human and female. It was aged moderately as well. Whoever she was, she had heard sound of the fairy child as she wept in the sunlight. Nervous at being discovered sleeping in a flower box, the fabled Robin Goodfellow sprung from his place. He stared down at the fussing child and grimaced. In a moment, the fairy was ready to pluck her and start his search again.

"Is that a baby? A baby crying here? Oh my goodness...! A baby...?"

But the woman sounded concerned.

In a split second decision, Puck removed the cloak that had kept the child warm in the night and threw it over himself.

"It's coming from my flower box? That's crazy."

Yet a human hand so very gently inspected her tulips and soon discovered the crying baby. Puck, on the other hand, had vanished without a goodbye.

The gardener was slightly worn and a bit aged. She looked much older than she was. Her red hair was faded and there was a spark in her grey eyes that still told others that they were worse off for daring to question her. She breathed heavily as she walked. As she held the thumb-sized baby in her palm, a shattering feeling of affection came over her. "I'll be. You're just a tiny thing. Oh, you're tiny. Don't cry. Oh don't cry... Oh, you need a mama... I bet you need milk, too. Let me get a dropper. Ooh, I'm gonna get you a dropper and we're gonna feed you... Who left you here, baby tiny?"

The woman carried the fairy baby inside and placed a small kiss upon her head, having little else she could do while she collected supplies to feed the squalling child. The kiss had some sort of power over the little creature, for the tears had stopped and dark eyes stared up at the human. The woman smiled and felt her heart warm. It was a child, just as she had always wished for.

"You're so tiny," She whispered, "So maybe I'll call you Thumbelina."

It was the start of Thumbelina's story.

Puck reappeared at the fairy court to a screaming match. Voices echoed through the halls as the merry trickster assumed that Oberon was entertaining some sort of guest and whoever that guest was had been angered by something that his Lordship had said or done. It was not something Puck was looking forward to. He had longed to spend the afternoon with Titania and mourn a life he would never had! Now it would be up to him to play damage control! He sped down the hallways and flew by the other fairies, only stopping a moment to ask Peaseblossom who their lucky visitor was and what had been done to offend them so.

Peaseblossom frowned and tried to hide herself behind a curtain. "It's one of our cousins from the skies and stars... Oh...Robin, go see for yourself!" She twirled her black curly hair through her fingers, then raced as far away from the throne room as she possibly could. Though an attendant to Titania, it seemed that she would rather flee at this time than witness this moment. Puck was beginning to reconsider. Still, he had a reputation and Oberon trusted him, though if he knew of the wingless child's paternity, chances were that the trust would be broken.

Puck remained in the doorway of the throne room. The thrones were petrified trees that had been enchanted and twisted into perfect shapes of chairs for the fairies to use. Oberon had a more grand seat that grew tall and branched outwards while Titania's was more modest and practial; only needing to be so high and more naturally beautiful. It was simple and easily moved around while Oberon's had to stay in one place. Titania used this to her advantage and kept her seat at a distance from Oberon today.

Before the thrones stood Rheul Gorm. Puck knew this woman. She was a fairy that was likely older than him. She had more power in her pinky than Oberon had in his entire torso. She could likely kill them all. Rheul Gorm, the Lady Blue, was red in the face while Titania seemed all too smug and happy. Oberon, however, was not pleased.

"I...I will not have that child here, Blue!"

"You will address me with my title, Oberon! Your mother used it and you can use it, too!"

Titania kept her peace as the two argued, but the graceful queen could not help but snicker. Though she had tears in the corners of her eyes at her loss and her chest twitched and ached with her sorrow, she still felt spite towards Oberon and laughed quietly at him.

"You scold me as if I am still a child! My mother no longer reigns here. I make the rules." Oberon threatened lowly towards Rheul Gorm while raising his fist. Those familiar embers flew from him and they danced on the floor until they fizzled out. All Rheul Gorm did in return was laugh. She mocked him. She was enraged, but yet she mocked him. With her piercing eyes, she mocked him. Puck never understood his cousins. They wore strange clothes that were more suited for flying, rather than instant vanishing. They granted wishes and heard the prayers of the desperate. They used fairy dust rather than the forces of nature. They were strange fairies. They didn't even enjoy each other during a good harvest or a time of celebration! No, these fairies loved humans in such a way that their lives were dedicated to them! Puck remained still and watched the exchange with interest.

"You do not understand how you've upset this balance, Lord Oberon. The child Maya is destined for something." Rheul Gorm drew in a calming breath before speaking and held her wand in both hands in a dignified manner. "If it is a problem, then we will raise her."

She had a destiny? A wingless child destined for something?

"For something great?" Puck called out curiously.

Rheul Gorm turned to face the curious Puck. "I'm not sure. Greatness can mean good or evil. The seer was unclear. All I am sure of is that the child born here should be protected until her time comes... One day she will be destined for something. She must be protected."

Puck looked away from Rheul Gorm shamefully. "She's safe." It was all he would say. All that he knew was that his daughter was safe and that Oberon had his wish. Puck bowed at the waist and politely excused himself. That bitter silence from the hour of the child's birth had fallen over the court again.

"What games are you playing in your court, Oberon?!" Rheul Gorm snapped her attention back to the seated fairy king.

Oberon held out his arms and sighed. "A girl-fae is useful. But I will not have her raised here. Robin has done his duty as I have asked! We're rid of her. Her place will remain secret until she's needed. Will that be enough for you, meddlesome cousin?"

Rheul Gorm narrowed her eyebrows irritably. "It's not enough, but I suppose I'll have to take it, you pig! I hope she's well. For your sake, Oberon. I hope this girl is well."


	7. Camlo

Tu Me Manques

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Summary: Dr. Archibald Hopper spends Tuesday afternoons helping a young kindergarten teacher coping with her own eventual death. The smell of tulips lingers heavily in his office. Archie (Jiminy)/OC

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Chapter 7: Camlo

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Nora had lived by the sea in her little farmhouse for what felt like an eternity. She had been the daughter of a lighthouse keeper. She still remembered the days of running up and down the stairs while carrying the oil bucket. Even in her youth when she was more spry, she was able to bring the bucket to her absent-minded father as he kept his vigil at the light and kept it lit. Even on the coldest days, he would remain at the top of the lighthouse, tending to the light so that it would go out. Sometimes the old man would be nursing a hang-over, but Nora still would arrive with a basket of food and a container of soup to warm himself.

Where had that maiden gone? The sea had aged her in so many ways.

While most would have wagered money that Nora would have become a short-tempered spinster, she instead found love with a sailor. Some daughters would have been proud to continue a tradition of watching a lighthouse and keeping the light lit, but Nora had chosen to live her life away from the light and the comfort of family. In a little farm house, the two carved out a life for each other. Nora tended to a garden and claimed she could grow just about anything while her husband was more adept at tending to what few animals they had.

They were happy and the two were bound by the sea. The sea also parted them for good. The sea had decided it fit to leave Nora a widow. In this, Nora found the wisdom that a sailor boy would only take your heart out to sea.

Childless and alone, the widow at least had her garden. She drew comfort from her flowers and it was said she could grow anything.

"Nora, what say you," Politely challenged a neighbor, "Make something of these corns."

He was an impatient man with an orchard full of apples and Nora did not know him well. All she knew about her neighbor was that he was new in town and that he stayed relatively hidden. He had a strange laugh and he was helpful to her, sometimes too helpful. His hand was almost claw-like when he deposited the corns into her calloused hands, then patted her shoulder.

"Who knows," He cackled softly, "Perhaps you'll grow a money tree or catch something useful!"

Nora didn't believe in such tricks, but she planted the corns in her planter box by her window and kept vigil over the plants. They were tended to and given as much love as the other flowers and vegetables that bloomed in her garden. Even the tallest blade of grass down to the lowly bud was loved. There was room for all in her garden.

It was a rainy night when Nora had realized the corns had produced purple tulips. Tulips from corns? But wouldn't they produce barley or something edible? Instead, beautiful flowers had blossomed and were waiting for morning's first light to roll their petals and drink in the sun.

Nora was impressed. It either spoke of her determination to her garden that she could charm barley into tulips, or it said there was some sort of blessing hanging over her garden. They were truly lovely flowers that were just small enough to fit perfectly in the box on her window. In morning's light, Nora crept outside to inspect the newly bloomed flowers and admire how her garden had been blessed with the first colors of springtime.

Within one of the tulips, she had discovered another blessing. Within a tulip, was nestled a tiny baby.

Filled with joy at what she had found, she named the little girl Thumbelina. At long last, Nora could be the mother she had always longed to be. For once in her life, nothing could snatch away that feeling.

It was a feeling that grew and swelled into pride as Thumbelina grew into a young woman.

Nora made a tiny bed for Thumbelina out of a box of matches and let her sleep on the window sill. She could see into the garden and also admire the tulips that she was found in quite a few years ago. Still, they grew. They brought a smile to Thumbelina's face.

The tiny darling brought sunlight to Nora's often gray world. Eager and willing to try anything, Thumbelina had a certain brightness about her that followed and lit up a room with her constant questioning or insistence that she be taught something. Through her persistence, Thumbelina had learned to sew while sitting on her mother's knee and working the needle through quilts. It was, for the tiny little girl, like a small race to run. It was a game of binding two scraps of different cloth together and to make them stronger. Together, they were strong and could keep her mother warm. Apart, they weren't so useful. The patches were sized differently and were different colors.

"Much like us," her mother cooed and cradled the girl in her hand. "We are a patchwork family, Thumbelina. And I like that very much. Strong together. Different...but perfect, even if different."

That made the girl smile.

From the birds, Thumbelina learned to sing with all of her heart. From the geese, she learned to hop and waddle. From the squirrels she watched outside her window, she learned how to quickly climb up the old furniture her mother had. Thumbelina reckoned she could do the same with trees if she ever wanted to try, but she never had the urge to venture so far. The furthest she ever went was to the barn to visit the cow and the sheep, but she would always return to the cottage before lunchtime. She would always be able to greet her mother on the path as she would return from the market.

Today, however, Thumbelina noticed her mother was running much later than usual.

Life had become difficult that year. Thumbelina had grown older. From a little naïve girl, she had blossomed into a woman. Still tiny and having hardly grown taller than what her thumb-sized moniker suggested, she was also still a very silly girl that often dreamed of singing, dancing, and people that looked like her. For all she knew, they were hiding within the tulips and waiting to sprout today! Today was her birthday, after all! So perhaps for her birthday, once her mother returned, she could ask just why no other little people had sprouted from tulips after her.

Thumbelina strolled around the barn. It was quiet. Only a week before, the sheep had been sold to a neighbor. The cow had left them in the fall. There were no more geese at the farm. At least there were flowers! Though it was quiet, the farm was still as colorful as her childhood and it caused her to smile and hop amongst the blades of grass. It was so soft beneath her bare feet as she danced along, allowing her copper brown hair to shine in the sunlight and bounce at her waist.

She desperately missed life the way it once was. It was simple then. She didn't understand why the world had to suddenly change and why she had to become older. The world was easier when she didn't have so much to worry about!

And where was her mother? Why was she gone so long? Thumbelina stared out to the path and to the fence where she often saw her mother walk from town and to their happy home. There was no sight of her. She couldn't hear the woman whistle, which was certainly a way to spot her before you saw her! Her mother loved to whistle happy sailing tunes she had learned when she was a child. Thumbelina couldn't whistle, so she learned to sing along without the words. Note for note, she could match the song and even hit some of the higher notes that her mother had difficulty with. It was something the little lady was so very proud of.

Hiking up her dress and wobbling through the taller grass, Thumbelina stared up at the white fence. If she couldn't see her mother from the path, then maybe, just maybe, she needed a taller perch to see her mother! Letting her purple skirt drop back to her side, she made her way to a fence post and grasped onto the side. It was a bit smooth from the paint and far too challenging to get a proper gripping. She moved to the side, which was flatter, shorter, and more rough, then tried to wrap her arms around it. There was a bit more success this time.

Able to get some footing onto the rough side, Thumbelina used her arms to pull herself up while pushing herself off the side. It wasn't quite like the squirrels climbed, but it would do. She grunted at laborious task, but for her own peace, she promised herself it would pay off. Soon her mother would find her and carry her inside so they could celebrate her birthday. All would be well and she would be happy. There would be noise and happiness on their farm. Their little patchwork family would be strong for the two scraps would be united again.

This caused her to smile and gave her a bigger spring in her step. She practically leaped over little splinters in the wood and never noticed how truly shabby the farm was. All Nora had was her garden, the house, and Thumbelina. There was no true farm anymore.

When she had reached the very top of the fence, Thumbelina noticed there was no place to sit. There was a point, of course! She could try to balance with one foot, but even in her whimsy, that seemed unwise and nearly as painful as trying to sit upon it.

"I am strong," Thumbelina sighed to herself, "So I may hold on until I can call for Mama when she passes by!"

She reached for the point and held it. Mere seconds had only passed when a bird had landed beside her. She had never seen this bird before. He was a swallow. A rather small swallow in comparison to those she had met before, he wore a care-worn top hat and a maroon scarf. His claws very aptly dug into the fence. His dark, beady eyes focused on the young woman.

"Hello!" His tweeting was friendly and, to Thumbelina, seemed accented. It wasn't normal swallow tweeting. He was from far away and nicer than most birds. He was kind, much like the song birds that had taught her to sing.

"Vhy are you dangling, little one? Let me help." With a roll of his twittering, the swallow left his perch and gently flew beneath the dangling Thumbelina and nudged her onto his back before her hands had grown too weary. In a swoop and a dip, he had returned to the perch on the fence and allowed Thumbelina to remain on his back.

"Is that better, little one?"

"Y-yes..." She admitted softly with a hint of guilt to her voice. "I was climbing to try to look for my mother. She's very late. She's never late for lunch and the sun is so high it's almost sideways again!"

The swallow made a low tweet of disapproval. "I have vatched your home before. Your mother is never late, little one. I could take you to the vindow and search for myself. Ve birds of the sky are alvays knoving vhere to fly, little one. I will search for your mother."

For Thumbelina, it was wondrous that any creature that had not been on the farm was so willing to do something kind for her. She had lived a sheltered life and she knew that. The callow and small creature was surprised at the generosity of animals that were strangers. She wasn't sure of the swallow's motivation, but it was still kind of him to offer. With a tiny nod she made against his blue feathers, the swallow was quickly off again. He glided flawlessly and zipped in the air, barely flapping his wings twice to reach the window sill where Thumbelina had been discovered only a number of years before. The foreign swallow leaned down to allow the miniscule woman the freedom to exit from his back.

She was filled with worry as she turned to face the swallow. Her dark brown eyes glimmered with tears that began to spill over. In a sudden move of bravado to try to cheer up the saddened birthday girl, the swallow puffed out his chest and brought his right wing to his heart.

"Please do not cry, my little one. Camlo vill find your mother. Have no fear, little one. Everything is alright when Camlo is here!" His tweeting still rolled so oddly and it was endearing. Thumbelina wouldn't dare say it, though. Her mother had taught her not to draw attention to such things, though she did truly adore the swallow's accent. So his name was Camlo? It was a very exotic name for a swallow and she wondered where he had traveled from. She squeezed though the window's cracks and unhooked a small latch on the inside to make it easier to open, should Camlo come knocking.

This time, though, she would hope for good news. From the inside of the house, Thumbelina pressed herself against the glass and waited for her mother's grand entrance with Camlo flying behind her. Something probably just came up. Maybe she had bought another cow! Maybe she bought two cows and a goat! That would be a wonderful present! Or maybe she was happy and had found someone to make her happy. Thumbelina had only heard one story about the man she assumed was her father. He had died years before her birth from the tulip, but her mother said he was a sailor and a storyteller. One day she hoped to hear more of such a man. Maybe when it hurt her mother less to speak of him.

The sun began to dip in the sky and the world took on a rosy hue.

Thumbelina started to lose her faith.

It seemed as if her mother wasn't going to return from the market and Camlo's words of everything being alright were not quite true.

She turned and started to crawl into her bed. Was this some sort of plan to leave her behind? Was everyone going to do this to her? Why was she meant to be left behind? Did her mother simply stop loving her?

Tap-tippa-tippa tap! Tap-tippa-tippa tap!

Her head snapped to see Camlo's beak rapping at the window frantically. The bird was trying with all of his energy to have Thumbelina just look his way for a moment to let him into the house. With a gasp, the impatient and flustered girl tripped over her feet and flew to the window to push it open. She grunted and let out a whimper as the swollen wood slowly as it screeched and scraped forward and allowed the nervous little swallow to hop inside. The bird skittered across the wood and flapped his wings while trying to find his footing. His talons gently scraped against the painted wood. The swallow had returned, but her mother was nowhere to be found. Immediately, Thumbelina's face twisted into a frown that questioned without words. The swallow, out of breath and panting as he flapped his wings a second time, noticed the worry within the dainty maiden. There was a pause between the two and one of the swallow's strong wings came down to rest behind Thumbelina.

"Your mother...is not returning, my little one."

Not understanding the swallow's words, Thumbelina knitted her brows together and squinted her eyes while trying to make some sense. She was young and she was still very sheltered. For the life of her, she couldn't register a single reason in her mind to why her mother would not return for her. Why would she leave her alone to such an unfriendly and empty cottage? Without her mother, there was no happy sailor's songs to sing along to. There was no more making quilts by the fireplace. There would be no more helping her mother in the garden if she was alone. But why? Why would her mother so easily leave her? Of all days, why would her mother simply abandon her on her birthday?

Tears burned at the girl's eyes and Camlo pulled the confused and wingless little wonder into his breast.

"Little one, your mother cannot make it back from marketplace. Vhen your mother vent to market, she vas sick and died. Maybe heart. Maybe she vas old."

In her innocent ignorance, Thumbelina glanced up at Camlo and spoke softly. "What does 'died' mean, Mr. Swallow?"

Taken aback, the bird made a low and sorrowful twitter. "Vhat is died...yes. Died is...not living. You stop breathing. You stop thinking. You are no longer talking to people... No more singing or I love yous, little one. You...stop living. Your heart is no longer beating. That is death. Died...and dying."

She knew flowers could die. They would wilt, but their seeds meant that they could return when the seasons changed. This was the season for rebirth. It was spring! Nothing died in spring! Things were meant to grow. The grass was green again and the breath of life had spread across the land. How was she supposed to believe that her mother was dead? People did not have seeds.

They could not come back.

Thumbelina made a mournful squall and disappeared beneath the swallow's feathers. It was soothing to be held, even if in the wings of the bird, over the loss of the only person she had ever known in her life. Her mother had loved her and raised her. Now she was gone. Thumbelina was very alone in a very large world.

Closing his eyes, Camlo felt obligated to stay with the crying girl until her sorrows passed. For a human, to be alone in a quiet and empty cottage would be lonely. For a smaller being, it was like being lost in a forest of its own sort! It was an entirely different world and he could not expect anyone else to understand. In the softest tweets, Camlo whistled a lullaby and gently rocked Thumbelina in his wings. She was like a wide-eyed hatchling. She had no feathers and she was filled with questions! She was so trusting! How would she survive without a mother?

"I vill stay vith you, my little one. Vhat is your name?"

"Thumbelina," came the muffled reply.

Camlo found himself in immediate dislike of such a name. Thumbelina! Thumbelina! It was ugly for a beautiful young lady, tiny as she may be! Thumbelina! A fancy human word for thumb! He gently released Thumbelina from his wings and leaned in close to her in an attempt to be as comforting as possible.

"Your name is very hard to say. Vould mind if I call Little Lina?"

Lina seemed like a nicer, shortened version of her name. Lina. It was like singing. She could have gone for a song at this time. She nodded and began to flick the tears from her cheeks. Little Lina she would be. Camlo's Little Lina. She wondered why her name was so difficult for the swallow. It was one of the many questions she'd have to ask later. She even recalled the question she was saving from earlier, about people who sprouted from tulips. Were there others like her? If Camlo was so wise and knew how and where to fly, surely he knew about the world and those within it.

Yet with such a heavy heart, she lacked the will to ask such questions. Instead, all she could muster was a weak croaking and an inquiry of what would become of her now. "Where will I go, Mr. Swallow?"

"Vith me. Alvays. Vhen I fly, you are coming vith me. I vill never leave you, Little Lina. Hatchling. Little one." But she wasn't his hatchling. Though he may have desired it, she was something else. Camlo gently nuzzled the girl and nudged her. "Go, yes? This place must be sad for you. I vill take you somevhere. And ve vill sleep. And ve vill travel to nice places." It was always wise, the swallow believed, to leave the places of sorrow for places more joyful. This house held nothing for Thumbelina any longer.

Without emotion, she agreed. Where else could a lost child go? Camlo and Lina needed each other. With no affection in his life, Camlo saw within Lina a daughter. With no guidance in her life, Lina saw within Camlo a teacher.

As the sky grew a darker shade of rose, the petite child of Puck and Titania climbed onto the back of the swallow and gently gripped onto the glossy blue feathers. She buried her face within the bird's back. "I have never flown before!"

"And I never have passenger!" Camlo chuckled. "Is good. Tell me, Little Lina, about you. All about you! Ve are duo, are ve? I tell you about me!" With a little hop and a brief jog towards the open window, the two had taken flight. Camlo was a powerful bird. With each flap of his wings, the wide-eyed tiny maiden could feel the strength within him. Soon, Camlo had reached a point where he could glide on the wind and resumed talking.

"I had cousin. He fell in love with reed. Ve uh...not talking about him much. Is family disgrace. But ve all vinter in land of fallen kings and pyramids! I take you, Little Lina! I vill teach you all about vorld! Vorld is yours to learn about! Tell me all about you!"

This distant land seemed interesting enough. It would be wonderful to visit when the world seemed so cold. Would it be warmer? Was that why Camlo left these lands? It would be nice to travel and feel wanted. She poked her head up and watched the sky around her as it began to turn into deeper shades of purple. The tiny slip of a thing cautiously moved around in the bird's feathers while thinking about herself.

"I am small. Mother said I grew out of a tulip. I like helping with sewing...and a few larks taught me to sing. I think some of your friends did, too. Other swallows, I mean... I'm not interesting." Thumbelina frowned and pressed her face against Camlo's feathers to hide herself again. It was not a very difficult feat, considering she was about the size of a young moth and he was easily many times that.

There was a mild squawk of disapproval from Camlo's end. "Not interesting! Lina, Lina...you can sing. In this vorld, you try anything. You are very interesting. Did you know there are very tall people who are boring? Being interesting is not about being tall or going on ah, say, grand adventures. You are kind and you are a bright girl. Maybe I teach you many things, Lina. Maybe someday you find yourself interesting. It is only important you please yourself."

In her heart, Thumbelina felt that the kind swallow was right in his observation. It was truly only important that she was satisfied with herself. This became the second lesson she learned. From her mother, she learned that family was like a quilt; made of many pieces that were sometimes alike or different, but strongest when bonded together. From Camlo, that she should only please herself.

So began Thumbelina's first adventure in life.

Seasons came and went. Gifted with fairy youth, Thumbelina remained a pretty, tiny maiden. By will, Camlo stayed with her. His feathers grew shabby and his twittering became deeper and more throaty. They never nested for long, but it was a pleasant life. Camlo would snatch sewing from the elderly ladies sunning themselves outside and Thumbelina would complete it. Nimble with her fingertips, she would sew. Of course, she would sing. She and Camlo would always sing together. In flight, foraging for berries, or as the sun set on a beautiful summer day, they would sing.

Thumbelina was singing as she bathed one late summer afternoon. In the shallow waters of a stream, the palm-sized lady finished rinsing her hair and began to tie the soaked copper brown locks back into a limp ponytail. With a scrap of fabric, she gave herself a purple bow that looked a bit like butterfly wings. Ah, wings. What she wouldn't do for a pair of wings. Fluffing the bow and glancing into the water, she thought about how incomplete she was. In all of her travels, she had never seen little people. Camlo had taken her far and wide and there were no little people. She had, however, caught a glimpse of women in the nightsky with beautiful gossamer wings.

Fairies, he had told her. Fairies who spread dust to give dreams to people. Some were godmothers and granted wishes. There were fairies of nature, too, but they were wild sorts.

If only to be a fairy. They were small like her! Perhaps that was where she belonged, and not flying with swallows.

If only she could have wings, too.

She stared into the water a bit longer and let her happy song trail away into more morose notes of wanting. Though she had no words on her lips, she had the want of wings in her heart.

This attracted attention. Something heard her singing. It was beautiful. It was heart wrenching, but it was beautiful. Never had he heard someone sing with all of their soul before! He waited a moment for the song to end, then took his chance. With a few hops, he had made his way beside Thumbelina and let out the most anticlimactic chirping to gain her attention. It did startle her. She could see from the reflection that behind her was a cricket.

Yet it was no common cricket. About a head larger than she and dressed in clothes she often saw human men wearing, he stood at polite attention behind her. Or rather, she assumed it was polite by the way he held his hands behind him. He repeated the chirping noise.

Thumbelina turned to face the bug and offered a nervous smile. "If that was supposed to be a compliment, you're very welcome for the performance, Mister Bug." Her voice twitched with apprehension as she looked into the cricket's dark eyes and tried to find some clue of emotion from the insect. It wasn't every day she was alone to speak with other creatures. Camlo was usually the speaker and he often rather the two kept to themselves. If he knew that Thumbelina was speaking to someone, especially a bug, Camlo would likely not be happy.

The cricket chirped again, then paused in thought. A hand reached to a gold-colored button attached to his waistcoat. A few strings of varying thickness poked out and the top was crooked and hanging off. Curiously, Thumbelina grasped onto the top and screwed it off. "This is important?" She asked as she began to fiddle with the device. She hadn't asked for permission, but when her new cricket companion hadn't drawn away from the touch, she assumed she had been asked to help fix the object.

Barely given time to nod, the cricket watched with rapt attention as Thumbelina took hold of the strings and pulled them tightly. She weaved them in and out of holes and reattached them to hooks, then weaved them back onto the top of the button. Screwing the top back into place, she smiled to herself. Thumbelina felt useful.

"Oh...uh...much better!" Instead of chirping, the cricket now had a voice. It took the device a moment to register the chirping, but at last, a voice was returned to the voyeuristic cricket that had been interested in the tiny songstress a moment before. "I'm sorry I was spying on you, miss. It's just, I've never heard music like that before, and my translator- Oh it's been fixed now. Never mind that."

The cricket stammered and looked down at his feet with a soft chuckle and fluttering of the wings. "I suppose I owe you an introduction. My name is Jiminy."

Jiminy. A lovely shade of green and dresses nicely. Thumbelina noted this and curtsied. "Not every day you find someone your size, is it, Jiminy?"

"Not at all, miss. I was so shocked I fell into a flower stalk and broke my translator! You fixed it! I really have to think of a way to repay you for that." Jiminy brought his hands together and let out a sigh. His antenna flopped forward limply in consideration. Once an idea had been reached, they stood straight for a brief moment, causing Thumbelina to erupt into a fit of giggles. Pausing and realizing exactly what the tiny girl was laughing at, Jiminy looked into the water for a glimpse at the feelers having a life of their own.

With a strained laugh, he reached up to brush them back, like a wayward haircut being blown in the wind, then attempted to speak again.

"I'm a sort of guide for a man and his young son. We're having a picnic in the nearby meadow. Perhaps you'd like to join us, Miss-"

Thumbelina did not have a chance to answer Jiminy properly. With an irritated squawk, Camlo swooped down to put distance between the two pint-sized beings and snapped his beak at Jiminy.

"Thumbelina! Vho is this? Vhat are doing vith a bug?!"

"Camlo, please! I-"

"You vhat? Consorting vith bugs! Bugs! Little pipsqueak like this I could eat for breakfast! Bug! A hopper bug! Thumbelina, ve never trust bugs. Bugs are liars! Liars!" Camlo turned and began to nudge Thumbelina away with a frenzied jerk, then returned to snap at Jiminy. Taking a hop backwards, Jiminy stumbled and fell onto his folded wings with a grunt. He held up his hands defensively and spoke fervently in Thumbelina's defense. He looked up to try to get a glimpse of her purple bow or her dark hair one last time, but all he could see was an angry and elderly swallow with his large wings bearing down on him.

"Sir, she fixed my translator and I didn't mean any harm. She helped me. Don't be angry with her. I'm an honest bug-"

"HONEST!" Camlo screeched and dug his talons into the earth. "No such thing as honest bug, hopper bug. You vill forget you ever see fairy and you forget you see me. Thumbelina does not need you. Go away. Filthy, filthy liar bug!"

Jiminy rolled onto his side and then to his feet. He stood for a moment and wondered what had happened. For a moment, he had thought he made a friend with a kind woman who was nearly his size. Now she stood behind the wing of a swallow looking embarrassed and frightened. Unable to speak up or reach out to the tiny woman who kept her soulful eyes on him, Jiminy flew away. Back to Geppetto. Back to Pinocchio. Back to family. Though he wondered, would he ever see her again? He would never forget her voice or her name. Thumbelina.

Thumbelina shook behind Camlo's wing and felt her breathing grow heavy.

"...He only wanted to invite me for a picnic. I could have made a friend, Camlo."

"Lina, Lina... Bugs...are liars. Beetles lie. Hopper bugs lie! They lie. Vill hurt my sveet Lina." Camlo tweeted softly and looked down at the tiny woman. All at once, she burst into tears and rushed off into the tall grass of the vale.


End file.
